The Secret Faces of Damon Salvatore
by littleSophie
Summary: Post 2x22: during their road trip to find Stefan, Damon and Elena learn new things about each other.
1. Chapter 1: Lingerie Breakdown

**The Secret Face of Damon Salvatore**

Afterwards, she'll always wonder why she hadn't been waiting for it to finally happen. So many months of desperate attempts to figure him out, this mess that he was, watching his every move and facial muscle to somehow decipher what he really felt. She even began to think, inconceivably, that she, Elena, was the only one who saw the real Damon, the only one with the ability to translate eyebrow-, eye- and smirk-things into motivations and thoughts. How was it possible that she never noticed how small the parts of him he showed to her really were?

They are into the second week of the "Save the Ripper" mission and Elena begins to wonder if it is appropriate to feel this comfortable around your boyfriend's brother while roaming the country in order to save said boyfriend. Granted, Damon was trying his utmost to not let her get too worried and moody, still, she feels a little guilty about that time where she couldn't stop laughing about his stupid joke (a guy visits the doctor to get his balls examined and – ew, no self-respecting girl should have laughed about _that_ one in the first place). Or the time when they sing-shouted a rather energetic version of "Stumbling In" while racing along the highway. Elena feels she should have been feeling embarrassed singing a love-duet, of all the possible songs!, with Damon and not enjoying it instead, and _especially not_ getting all flustered and light-headed after hearing him declare "our love is alive" in a slow and velvety bass timbre. That particular incident had her so confused that she gave him the silent treatment for hours afterwards. And yes, she knows perfectly well that it was childish and it's really not his fault that she is apparently unable to keep her boundaries up around him. Even worse was the fact that he didn't press her about the sudden change in mood and she'd rather not dwell on the possibility that he understood perfectly what was going on. What bothers her so much with all of this is that it feels decidedly too much like being in a relationship. The silly, fun part even, the one that she and Stefan never really got to because life-threatening problems were going on all the fucking time. Which makes no sense whatsoever for aren't they in the middle of their most serious crisis right now? And she is worried, well scared shitless frankly, she really is, but a load of sorrow and danger like hers will numb you a little and Damon's imitation of James Dean _is_ priceless and she is only 17 and most likely already on the road to insanity.

This is her mindset on this particular morning and on top of it she's not been sleeping properly. Hunting your blood-crazed boyfriend and spending your nights in the same room as his brother will do that to you. She's perched tiredly on the rim of the bathtub, fighting with her knotted hair, so exhausted and this is why she just asks Damon to bring her the leave-in spray. Which she does.

"Damon, can you bring me my leave-in spray? It's in the upper right corner of the suitcase."

This is what she says, exactly. She registers a non-committal "humph" and resumes her hair-battle. It takes her all of two minutes to be sure that something's off because that's how long it would have taken him to do what she asked of him, in slow-mo. Only that Damon doesn't do slow-mo.

"Damon?" she calls.

Still no answer. Immediately her mind begins to list possible catastrophes that could have happened to him, this is her life after all. Understandably, she is not prepared for the sight that greets her when she all but rushes into the room. He's there alright, with no immediate danger apparent and so she heaves a sigh of relief. That's when she notices it. In his hands. Her bra.

She feels enraged? Furious? Embarrassed? Vulnerable? Alive? _Something_ and, a flow of insults on the tip of her tongue, her eyes slide up to his face. This is when she stops breathing in earnest.

Right there, in front of her eyes, is the version of Damon Salvatore that she's never seen.

He's smiling.

Not smirking, half-smiling, scowling, pouting or one of the other endless expressions that she's seen his mouth make. No, this a real, honest to God, teeth-showing, cheek-hurting, eye-shining smile and she realizes he looks just like a boy who got his big Christmas wish granted. _I'll never see something this beautiful again_, she thinks, her heart wrenching painfully. He's looking at her now and his eyes are so overwhelmingly full of _him_, as if his heart were about to spill itself right there, down on the floor. Elena practically feels her skin melt away under the power of his gaze, it's too much and her own eyes drop down, back to his hands. For the first time, she notices exactly which bra he's holding; of course it had to be that one, her secret favorite. She remembers buying it shortly after the Miss Mystic pageant, when they had so much trouble with Stefan. Treating herself to a set of over-priced, decadent and possibly never to be worn lingerie is a habit of hers whenever life gets too messy and tragic. Something about purchasing such luxurious underwear has always given her back an illusion of being in control, being grown-up.

She had been standing in front of the mirror, her breasts tightly encased in red silk, black lace adorning the seams, reaching all the way around her back, and deep in the valley that the bra created between her breasts shimmered a black pearl. Her mouth had been slightly parted as she was staring at her reflection, her back arching involuntarily, the delicious mounds clearly begging to be touched. There had been a flashing memory of Damon in her mind at the time, rendering her speechless with his eyes during their dance, and suddenly she had known, without a doubt: he would adore that bra. Afterwards, she was way too chicken to really ask herself why she was so hell-bent on buying that insanely expensive scrap of silk and lace.

Now he's standing there, holding the very same piece of lingerie in his hands and with a sudden jolt in her lower belly, Elena notices that his thumbs are stroking the red silk of the cups in lazy, sensual circles. Oh dear God, she prays inwardly, please let him not have seen the panties or any of the other stuff for that matter.

"My, my Elena, whatever happened to pastel-colored stripes?" he suddenly drawls, his usual lewd smirk back and firmly in place, her own image in various states of undress and lingerie as clearly visible in his eyes as if he would show her a picture show.

Ok, so clearly he's seen it all - the matching panties with that little hole right above her bottom, the set with golden satin behind black lace, the one with see-through red and pink – god, she feels like a dirty minx listing them mentally. She remembers that time when he came to her room, giving her advice for handling blood-thirsty Stefan while simultaneously rummaging in her underwear drawer. At that time she had luckily been fast enough to shut the drawer before he came any further than her innocent pastel, official undies. The thought that he had now seen this secret side of her makes her head swim and her thighs tremble. Not even Stefan knows of her passion for seductive lingerie; his confession that he loves her girlish sets because he found anything more sexy to be weird and unnatural on young women prevented her from ever trying to seduce him in one of her more mature sets. She had wondered if that was his puritan, last century upbringing talking…

"In case this is you, trying to find a new personality – I'm so approving of this one," Damon tells her now, because he surely remembers that day too.

"I'm not – " she mumbles, "this is not -, I've had these for years-" She stops then, not sure why she felt the impulse to explain herself in the first place, it's not like her undergarments are any of his business.

Suddenly he's walking towards her with his head slightly back, eyelids lowered, hips tilting just so, her bra still in his hands – looking like predator and prey at the same time.

"Lies", he purrs, looking at her through lowered eyelashes. "I can smell that you've hardly worn these. Unless - " and the growing devilish glint in his eyes makes Elena search for something to support her, "this is your _confidential_ stuff, of course." And he's so awfully close to the truth now that her mouth goes dry. Don't lick your lips, she commands herself, don't lick them! but it's no use; her tongue slips out as if on its own and the tiny sigh that escapes him makes her repeat it immediately.

"Elena," he whispers, leaning imperceptibly closer, "why would you raid your secret lingerie stash for our little trip?"

She had been packing hectically, so very much worried about Stefan, Damon waiting impatiently outside the house, and then she had opened that goddamn drawer, her hand automatically reaching for the neat cotton piles. Damon had chosen this exact moment to honk, possibly still a little pissed off that she had emotionally blackmailed him into taking her along on the trip, and the thought of being alone with him for possibly a very long time had made her grab for the hidden shiny piles at the very back of the drawer instead. She had taken them because she felt they would make her more confident, even if he would never see them. Just the idea of spending weeks and weeks with Damon while wearing cotton undies made her feel weak, inferior and so young and stupid. Really, it had felt like a good idea then. Right now, however, her inner sermon went something like: _stupid, moron, stupid, fool, dumb, moron….. _

Finally she pulls herself together and he's standing there, still holding her favorite bra with an air as if he had taken it right from her body and she explodes helplessly in righteous anger.

"You pervert! You have no right to look through my things! Take your hands from my stuff!" Then she does what she's best at when it comes to him: she swings her arm back and slaps him across the face, hard. Her hand's not even lost contact with his skin before he has her backed up against the wall, leaving just enough space between them that they're not technically touching. Elena still has a hard enough time telling her body to stay. the. hell. back.

His mouth is directly at her ear now, urgent and rough. "You can deny it all you want, but we both know that this part of you – your anger, your dancing, your fists, your drunkenness, your secret love for slutty lingerie, hell, let's just call it the woman in you, _she_ belongs to _me_! Go ahead, hit me if it makes you feel better – I can take it. But it won't change a thing."

When he steps back lightly, his arms hanging at his sides, just the hint of a smirk on his face, she loses it. She's beyond reason now, her arms thrashing wildly at him, hitting, scratching, clawing while she hisses curses and nonsensical syllables at him, trying to wipe that smile of his face, but it only gets wider the longer she rages on. God, she's supposed to be worrying about Stefan above all, instead her mind is acting like a satellite, orbiting around _him_, all the damn time. She hates him for it so very much. Finally it's no longer clear if she's trying to hurt him or prevent herself from falling, if she's still swearing or just crying furiously, and he's staring at her the whole time, drinking her in while he's smiling again, really smiling, like there couldn't be any greater joy for him than watching her lose control. Elena's panting heavily, staring at him, and she wonders how she never searched for this smile, how he kept it from her for such a long time and how she seems to hold the power now to evoke it.

_There's no way I can stop this now,_ she thinks, her chest heaving, _there is no way I could stop myself now from falling for him._


	2. Chapter 2: Jealousy Tango

**A/N: **_So, this is the second chapter, it's a little longer but I was unable to help myself. Dancing Damon sends my imagination into overdrive...**  
><strong>_

_Since this is my first story I'm still awfully self-conscious and really afraid that I don't do my favourite show justice.  
><em>

_If you think it's any good or have some critique points, please let me know and review, okay? Pretty please?_**  
><strong>

**Jealousy Tango**

She questions her knowledge of Damon Salvatore for the second time on a Friday night. They are back to the playful banter at that point, after thoroughly ignoring what happened when he had discovered her underwear. Elena is still immensely relieved that he never brought it up again, but she assumes that he, too, is determined to hold a fragile truce between them. After all, they are in each other's company 24/7 and a ton of impossible to analyze tension between them is enough, no need to add emotional arguments to that mix. So the lingerie breakdown went the same way as the deathbed kiss: completely disregarded. She is a little surprised with herself because if she had to name one constant principle of hers it would be the conviction to face problems and discuss them. Until recently, that is. Right now, she's convinced that she simply never had such a tangled mess of a problem like she and Damon have now. A problem that is so scary and irrational that she wouldn't trust herself to talk about it. Where she can't guess in the slightest what she might say or do. A problem that, if faced, might not only turn her world upside down (she's already had her fair share of those and is now handling them like other people handle the obstacles of daily life). No, this one could turn _her_ inside out and she's scared to death of what she might find there. Sometimes she remembers that she is still a teenager, that she's supposed to change and "find herself" right now, but she never gets around to it. Saving your friends and trying to maintain the balance of power in the world can really eat up your time.

However, that doesn't change the fact that she is convinced Damon is now trying to figure out what underwear she's wearing, every morning. There couldn't possibly be another explanation for the scrutinizing looks he gives her now whenever she emerges fully clothed from the bathroom after her morning routine. She doesn't scold him though, since they would have to talk about what happened then. She always felt naked in his company most of the time anyway and, of course, she can't wear _that _bra anymore, it would feel like having his hands supporting her breasts. His fingerprints might as well be still visible on the red silk.

They take course south when there is report of another mysterious "animal attack" in the northern outskirts of Louisiana. Since Caroline won over her mom, they have the advantage of hearing early about unusual accidents and getting to look at the official reports without any compulsion. Liz simply announces Damon as her investigator who specializes in these brutal slayings and they never face any problems. They are always hoping to discover something at these crime scenes, though Elena never gets to see them, of course; just a hint, a pattern, but so far it hasn't brought them anything. However, they have reason to expect something from this particular scene, Liz has mentioned that the officers found some scribbled notes.

But after driving for the best part of 13 hours, Damon decides they're not going to make it in one day and so they stop in a small, insignificant town somewhere in South Carolina, quickly locating an equally insignificant but decent hotel to spend the night in. Elena contemplates the irony of the situation: just a little more than a year ago she always nagged her parents to spend their holidays in hotels and now she already feels like she's fed up with them for a lifetime. After a while they all start to look the same.

It's only around 9 in the evening and since the air is warm and pleasant, they decide to take a stroll outside and maybe grab something to eat. It's quiet between them and anxious, at least on Elena's side. Thoughts of the coming day are heavy on her mind although she's trying to suppress them, true to her new philosophy in life. Since she's in desperate need of distraction, a colorful poster in the window of a shabby bar is enough to pique her interest. "Tango music & dancing tonight" it reads, in the worst designed scrawl she has seen in a while, but the bar seems to be almost crowed and the rhythmic wailing of an accordion from inside is tempting her.

"Let's go in there, Damon", she tells him. "They'll surely have something to eat _and_ we could watch people dancing."

He eyes her up with a somewhat weird expression, one eyebrow up, the left corner of his mouth quivering.

"You want to go in _there_?"

Elena feels like she's missing some kind of joke here, but she'd rather not ask. She's becoming increasingly wary of all the ways that Damon is able to work innuendos in apparently innocent conversations.

"Yeah, sure", she therefore returns. "Maybe it's even enough to distract me."

He snickers shortly, mutters "figures" under his breath and then relents by holding the door open for her. The inside of the bar is dense with smoke, dimly lit and vibrating with chatter, the feverish melodies of the small band and the sharp tapping of the dancer's feet. The people seem to be around thirty and older for the most part, not looking too fancy in general either. Elena has her second moment of weirdness this evening when some male voice from the bar is suddenly shouting in their direction.

"Oy, Damon! Great to see you! I'll tell Susanne that you're here!"

She doesn't even have time to hiss questions in his ear before another man approaches them, a broad grin on his wrinkled face, a cloud of white, fluffy hair covering his head.

"Well, look who's here! We were beginning to wonder if we lost you. That was a dull month without you, let me tell you." He then turns to her and extends his hand, together with a friendly smile. "And this is…?"

"Elena, meet Robert, the owner of this sorry excuse for a bar", Damon promptly introduces them. "Robert, meet Elena, a …friend of mine", he adds with only a short moment of hesitation.

"A friend, is it?" Robert seems to feel the unnecessary need to ask. "You don't have any female friends, Damon."

"I'm making a special exception for her" Damon explains, his gaze on her causing heat to crawl up Elena's cheeks. Thankfully, Robert seems to be enough of a gentleman to not comment on that and instead offers to bring them something to eat from his wife's kitchen. When they finally settle at a table in the back, Elena with a plate of steaming soup in front of her, Damon with his usual tumbler of amber liquid, she simply turns towards him with an inquisitive look.

"Geez, Elena", Damon rolls his eyes. "I _do_ have a life outside of our little dullsville, you know. I happen to like this place, the music is acceptable and the crowd has few enough morals not to irritate me. So I've been down here a few times. Just my luck that you wanted to go in _here_."

"Okay…" Elena slowly answers. "But why would you drive all the way down here just to be at a bar that you don't completely dislike? And it doesn't explain the fact that they all seem to know and actually _like_ you, no offense." And before she can stop herself: "And who the hell is Susanne?"

"Firstly, I'm constantly mystified how you and your little gang fail to see my greatness, no offense", Damon quips. " As you can see, other people have no such erratic behavior. I suspect these_ particular_ people seem to like me because I make it a habit of mine to light up this bar whenever I'm here, figuratively speaking, mind you. Secondly, if you're wondering why I would put up with long distances simply to get here, it just goes to show that you never tried to find a good Tango partner. Which brings me to your last questions," he smirks at her, but then his eyes fixate something above her shoulder and his mouth widens. "And this is – Susanne."

Her first impressions is that she probably would have liked this woman under different circumstances, Susanne's face is remarkably open and the warmth of her smile hints at a generous nature. As it is, the slender woman in her late-thirties is a bit too attractive for her taste, her blue dress a little too tight and the voluminous bun of honey colored curls at the nape of her neck looks a tiny bit too promising. Elena chokes a little on her soup when Damon immediately envelopes the woman in a tight embrace, lifting her almost off the floor. Worse still, this Susanne woman practically squeals with delight to see him, exclaiming "Finally!" in a much too happy voice.

"You have no idea with what guys I had to make do in your absence! You do realize that you basically owe me the whole evening as an apology, don't you?"

Damon's answering smile is nauseatingly heartfelt. "I'll make it all up to you", he promises. Adds "all of it" in a suggestive drawl and this Susanne unbelievably has the restraint not to blush. After a friendly but distracted "Hey!" to Elena, she begins to drag Damon towards the band on the other side of the room. "Wait!" Elena calls after him, unable to help herself. "What are you-", but he just throws her an apologetic glance, gestures "I'll be back" and makes his way through the dancing crowd. She's not hungry anymore as she watches him greet the musicians like his long lost family, shaking hands (!), clapping backs(!) and even going so far as to give the old violinist an affectionate man hug! They seem to discuss something for a few minutes, then he gives her a lopsided grin over his shoulder and begins to gesture animatedly after he turns back. The musicians just nod repeatedly while _Susanne_ sports a small contented smile until finally one of them slowly quiets the crowd with repeated shouts of "Guys, guys!"

"Since we have one of our favorite guests here tonight, we allowed him to make a song wish. And before you ask, no, none of you others gets one so don't bother trying!" He's interrupted by shouts, whistles, laughter and the yelled greetings of several other people who, miraculously, also seem to know Damon. With all the animated faces around her, Elena begins to feel like the only one in the room who is not having the time of her life. Or it could be that she's simply not drunk enough.

"So, as a special treat to Damon", the musician goes on, ruthlessly shouting down the crowd. "We give you _– the Jealousy Tango_!"

While the people are cheering loudly, she feels Damon's eyes on her again and reluctantly raises her head to meet his gaze. His smirk is shameless as he points two fingers to (at?) his forehead which is obviously his way of telling her to stop frowning. The distinctive feeling that this song is somehow also dedicated to her is highly uncomfortable. Right then it gets eerily quiet in the bar, the tension palpable as everyone clears out a large circular space in the middle into which Damon and Susanne stroll lazily. Elena's heart is picking up a painful beat as his arm slides around the woman's slender waist, pulling her so close that her high heeled foot slips between his legs, her nose resting at that sweet place where his shoulder and neck meet. When they both close their eyes, Elena has to take a quick sip from Damon's liquor, throat and eyes promptly burning. Everyone seems to be waiting with baited breath when finally a single violin releases a high, wailing note in the silence.

What follows is hard for her to put in clear descriptions and correct sentences afterwards, despite the fact that she can feel all her senses working overtime. Watching them dance is one of the rare occasions when she really feels so invested in the moment that there's not one part of her that judges from the outside, already filing the experience away for later memories. On the contrary, she's so caught up that she's not even completely aware of herself standing up, leaving her table and coming to watch from the edge of the circle. She tries very hard not to blink as their bodies glide across the floor, twirling, freezing, bending, spinning, leaping, dipping and tensing with a grace that is almost painful to witness. At times they only hang at each other's fingertips, then again they're so closely intertwined that Elena very nearly feels the heat herself. Invisible ropes seem to bind the two dancers together at all times, tense for a few seconds when they're facing each other, every muscle and fiber strained and loose again when they're eagerly melting against each other, not even a hairbreadth of space between them. Even their eyes share an unwavering look but who's initiating the figures is impossible to determine. If Elena had any doubts before regarding the nature of their relationship, they're gone now. She's no fool, she knows that there's only one way to get this familiar and in tune with another's body. To share every possible connection and action that two different bodies can have and thinking of those makes her a little dizzy. Despite being breathtakingly beautiful, this dance is also a kind of foreplay that surpasses every daring fantasy she ever had. This is what Elena imagines watching porn must feel like: a little disturbing because it's so private, but impossible to look away from. Only that this must be indefinitely better, and a thousand times more arousing. She feels slightly feverish now, her cheeks burning and she's apparently unable to stop gulping air. The thought of being curled so inseparably around Damon's body, like Susanne is now, of having him pressed so close against her back that she can feel his pulse beating, like Susanne is surely doing now, provokes a dull throbbing in her limbs. Then there's that moment when Susanne's bun gets loose during an outward spin and it looks like the half meter of honey colored glory will whip Damon in the face. Which is almost comical but only until he simply twines the hair together and winds it one, two, three times around his wrist before pulling her in an impossibly deep dip that exposes the long graceful line of her neck right in front of Elena. In the attempt to recollect her wits, she lets her gaze stray to the other guests which turns out to be a really dumb idea. Most of the woman are subconsciously swaying their hips and most – no, scratch that, _all_ of them are watching with a lusty, unguarded look that she desperately hopes is not showing on her face too. The song is nearing its ending now with a maddening pace, Susanne has her leg hitched around his hip as he takes her for a last dizzying spin before lowering them both for the final pose. And now finally, at last, his eyes find hers over the shoulder of his dance partner and if she ever felt his eyes were intense, she has no idea what descriptive word to use now. They look positively crazed with desire, hypnotizing her, filling her whole vision until she feels her knees buckle as she is, in fact, literally, pathetically losing her balance under his stare. Desperate to uphold at least some kind of composure she spins around and pushes through the crowd in the assumed direction of the ladies room.

The battered door swings shut behind her as she grips the cool sink with both hands, thankful for the little temperature drop after the smoky, stifling bar room. The face in the tarnished mirror looks back at her with big, foreign eyes, wanting and unhinged.

_This can't be happening,_ her mind is screaming at her, _get a fucking grip on yourself, it's only tango, goddamn it! You've seen him dance before, remember? _ Well, yes, she has, but that had been at school dances and beauty pageants, when he was at least trying to follow the etiquettes. Not that she had been unaffected by it then but tonight she has seen him in all his unleashed, unrestrained glory and her stupid, hormonal body is still reeling.

Suddenly the door bursts open again and a group of women enter, bringing with them a cloud of perfume, sweat and excited chatter. They're obviously talking about the dance, trying to express their adoration for it with an obscene amount of swear words and exclamations while they scurry around the mirror to touch up their make-up. When it's getting obvious that there's no foreseeable end to the suggestions what they would do with _"that hottie"_ if given the chance, Elena decides that she's not going to get a clear head by staying in here any longer and cautiously makes her way back to the bar.

Another song is playing already, the accordion pumping its intoxicating rhythm and the dance floor is packed again, thrumming with heightened excitement and loosened inhibitions. So obviously Damon, who's still dancing with Susanne in the midst of the crowd, wasn't kidding: he _does_ set this club on fire. She picks her way towards the table again, deciding that she better not watch anymore of his "moves, that she has never _seen_ before!", damn him, really, God. damn. him. However, she still takes another sip of his drink, carefully measured though ,because she feels the results could be disastrous if she gets drunk tonight. Instead she watches the other dancers, trying to collect herself again and to reassert her aloofness by judging them mentally and finding ridiculous movements. It's not working though because most of them are really carefree and unselfconsciously enjoying themselves which makes it hard to find them ludicrous. It also reminds her of the fact that she's sitting alone at a table, increasingly feeling like the awkward wallflower at her first party who doesn't know what to do with her hands. Right when she decides to probably get drunk anyway, that bar owner, Robert, is slumping on the chair next to her. He scrutinizes her for a moment, then:

"This was your first time, wasn't it? It's a bit overwhelming if you haven't seen them dance before. Even I feel a little stunned every time. They harmonize really good."

Elena releases a shaky breath. "Yeah, maybe that's a bit of an understatement, right?" He chuckles dryly.

"I remember the first time he was here, must've been be a year ago now. He was so full of anger back then, downed half a bottle of our best bourbon and then simply dragged Susanne onto the dance floor. That _was_ quite rude, come to think of it", he chuckles some more. "But after that it was magical, really. I've never seen such an instant connection between two dancers before and I've been running this bar for quite a time, let me tell you. Back then, Susanne was not in good shape, my son had already died in that cursed accident – " he nods once when she mumbles something apologetic. "Well, that's beside the point now, but fact is she was a little mad with grief and then this guy, looking a bit deranged himself, just grabbed her and danced with her as if there was no tomorrow. She simply let loose, you know, let him lift her in figures that I've never even heard of. It looked as if they were feeding of each other," Elena winces a little at the choice of word. "His anger, her grief, they seemed to push it onto each other. Tango is great that way, you see, it welcomes all of your pain and finds an expression for it. You'll never be better than when you're completely crushed and down and the best dancers are always the ones with the most cruel heartbreaks. I don't know anything about Damon's past, of course, but if his dancing is any indication it must have been the worst."

He's wearing a mused expression now as he watches the dancing pair on the floor.

"Anyway, something must've clicked inside her then, she was not so numb anymore, started to throw things around and yell at people randomly. It was a relief, honestly, and she's become gradually better since then. Who'd have thought after all the hot teas, friendly shoulders and tons of doctor appointments, that all it took was some heady tango dancing with a stranger. Which is why I'll be eternally grateful to Damon – and also because he's pleasing my crowd, of course.", he finishes with a twinkle in his eye.

While Elena's still trying to process everything he told her, his shrewd eyes suddenly turn on her.

"Really, here I am, boring you with the musings of a codger, old age will do your manners no good, let me tell you. So what about you, Elena, did you ever have the pleasure of dancing Tango with him?"

"Oh no", she says, maybe a little hastily, "We're really only friends, so no – I mean, not that you have to-, but no, I'm dating his brother, actually. And I don't know anything about Tango, anyway."

"Ah", is all that he says, but it sounds an awful lot like understanding and pity. After a small pause he continues in a more enthusiastic tone: "Maybe I can at least help you with the last obstacle."

Unsure what he means, she sends Robert a quizzical look.

"Well, I might not be such a brilliant dancer like Damon but I'm quite the Tango veteran nonetheless and it would be my pleasure to show you the basic steps."

She gratefully accepts his offer, since it sure doesn't look like Damon will spare her another look this evening anyway. Robert leads her to a clear space a little to the side and sets about showing her the fundamental rhythm of Tango, along with the very first steps. It doesn't take long for Elena to actually enjoy herself and become determined to master what he's showing her. The way Robert explains everything to her, with the air of a well-meaning, indulgent grandfather, makes her feel confident and unashamed for the first time this evening. When Elena asks him to show her how to do the dip, he has to decline though, saying that his back wouldn't allow him to any more. Instead he declares her to be ready for her first round of real dancing with him and promptly leads her further onto the dance floor. It's a slow Tango, only one violin, one accordion and a guitar are playing, Robert is guiding her gently and securely and everything could feel really pleasant if they weren't dancing so awfully close to Damon and Susanne now. Elena's does her best not to get distracted, to stay concentrated on her own partner, but it's terribly difficult when Susanne's head is nestled so intimately in the side of his neck and their hands are restlessly, tenderly moving around each other. Once she catches his eyes during her quick, covert glances and the small kind smile he gives her makes her question if she probably just imagined his passionate look earlier.

When the dance ends, she somehow manages to politely thank Robert before making her way to the table, feeling thoroughly defeated all of a sudden. For a while she continues watching Damon, who is now rapidly changing partners, but when she catches herself thinking _"some of them are not even pretty"_ in a rather vile inner voice, she decides to stop, right this minute. This is not the Elena she knows, the one who likes everyone on principle and never _ever_ judges any girls by their looks. She would possibly analyze why Damon sparks such untypical feelings in her, but then she had to admit to what extent he seems to affect her and that's her "scary, don't-go-there" issue, so instead she lets her head sink on the table top and closes her exhausted eyelids.

The next thing she notices are two arms, slipping under her body and gently lifting her up. She's in that fuzzy semi-conscious state where she just wants to keep her eyes closed, never use her own legs again and breathe in forever the bittersweet scent of that someone who's carrying her. But then a gust of cool night air hits her, wakes her completely and won't let her ignore any longer that her arms are locked around Damon's neck in a tight grip. Suddenly she's scared, really scared, he'll notice that she's not sleeping anymore and is letting herself be carried by him anyway. In panic, she does the only other thing that comes to mind and flinches forcefully in his arms and in a voice that is full of uncalled for harshness, she demands that he set her down, _"this second, Damon!"_

"Suit yourself", he mutters a little bitterly while he sets her rather non-gently on her own feet.

They're standing on the little square outside their hotel and seeing that there's no one on the streets besides them , it must be quite late already. However, it's bright enough for her to notice that his cheeks are flushed from all the dancing, the tips of his hair are plastered to his forehead with sweat and she suddenly has the insane impulse to press her hands to his face, to feel if he is as heated as he looks. This, of course, makes her even more angry with him, how her body always betrays her around him. So after losing control over that she goes right on to lose control over her tongue too.

"So, I assume you had a good time this evening?" Her tone is scalding in the still of the night.

His eyebrows mold themselves into his all too familiar "I'm confused right now" – expression.

"What's the matter with you? If I recall correctly, _you_ were the one who wanted to get distracted tonight. I take it, I wasn't allowed the same freedom then?" He takes nothing from her, his tone matching hers in acidity.

"Wanting to be distracted is a lot different from having the time of your life," she hisses in frustration, at him and at her own silliness. "And it sure as hell doesn't imply getting all _sweaty_ with _dozens_ of women while your own brother is being held captive by the worst creature on this earth!" She regrets that last bit as soon as it's out of her mouth.

His eyes take on that calculating look that she doesn't like to have directed at her one bit, because whatever follows will usually challenge her skills of self-command.

"I'm going to ignore that attempt to make me feel guilty by bringing Stefan into the argument right now," he informs her. "Instead I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess: Are you possibly just mad at me because I didn't ask _you_ to dance with me?"

She scoffs, feeling a little unconvincing herself. "Are you out of your freaking mind, Damon?" Then she has to look down so that he won't see her eyes when she adds in a small, dejected voice that she hasn't heard from herself since that day in sixth grade when Matt, in a fit of prepubescent coolness, refused to go see a movie with her: "Why didn't you?"

Immediately the anger leaves his eyes.

"Elena", he sighs with almost unbearable sweetness, encircling her wrist tentatively with two fingers. "I didn't dance Tango with you because you're not ready, not because I don't want to. Take it from someone who was practically _there_ when they invented that dance but Tango works best for messed up people. And yeah, I know you're life is _not _a fairytale, but you're still living your picture book relationship with Stefan and that's just not for Tango. You would have to know heartbreak, jealousy and all the stuff that one commonly calls sins to dance like that." Elena wants very much to tell him that she _does_ know all this, that she's jealous of Susanne, constantly fighting dozens of forbidden urges now and doesn't know herself any longer. But of course she can't tell him that, so she's just silent some more, watching him with unblinking eyes.

"I want to dance Tango with you, when you're ready but for now I would much more prefer Rumba with you. With Tango it's all about the fighting and challenging, Rumba is much sweeter and tender," he sounds careful all of a sudden. "Tango is a constant competition for control, but when you're dancing Rumba the guy does all the leading" his hand ghosts a tiny bit up her arm as his voice drops to a low murmur. "So, you see, Elena, all _you_ would have to do is sway your hips and give in to me."


	3. Chapter 3: Fever Nights

**A/N **Let me start by sending out a big fat thank you to everyone who reviewed. Your words make me so so happy, really! On another note, I'm really scared for this chapter for several reasons. The most important one is that my wonderful beta, waltzmatildah, is currently on vacation which means that this chapter might be full of mistakes, grammatical and story-like. If you spot any, I'd be very grateful if you could please let me know. In addition, I ventured out a little onto the field of angst here and got quite emotional. That reminded me of my juvenile days when I used to journal, in a similar mood, and whatever I wrote then felt so crappy afterwards that I usually tore the pages to bits. So, yes, it is entirely possible that this (points down) is just a giant heap of sentimental crap. If some of you disagree (please do!), would you be so kind and soothe my nervous nerves? That would be great! Enogh talking, you have been warned...**  
><strong>

**Fever Nights**

They reach the small town,(some name with P, or was it B? she already forgot.) around three o'clock on the next day, after driving for hours in awkward, uncomfortable silence and with averted eyes. Elena has resolutely watched the roadside through the open window, letting herself be dulled by the endless repetition of farmhouses, signboards and fences while she thought about Stefan. She tried to picture him as clearly as possible, his gentle voice, always present sympathy and comforting hugs and let the feeling of his loss fill her completely. By the time they park in front of the sheriff's office she hasn't thought about dancing with Damon in over an hour and her determination to get Stefan back is again the only driving force on her mind.

The middle-aged, chubby man who greets them looks exhausted and still a little stunned by the fact that he, the sheriff for drunken bar fights and car accidents, suddenly has to investigate the slaughtering of a whole family.

"It's not pretty", is the first thing he says after he led them to his small office and they delivered their back-up story: Damon the investigator, Elena the young but driven trainee, complete with fake names. It's only thanks to his level of distraction that the sheriff doesn't question their lame explanations.

"A whole family, father, mother, two grown up sons and a thirteen year old daughter. They were camping up near Hiawasee, on summer vacation by the looks of it. They probably never knew what hit them..." he trails off, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"The whole thing confuses me, to be honest. There definitely was a wolf involved, at least we could identify some of the hair and the biting marks as one, but some of the other wounds are strange. It looks like they've been inflicted by only two long barbs or teeth, must be some kind of cruel weapon. Of course, my daughter thinks it's this Edward Sullen guy or what's his name so we refer to them now as the "vampire bites", his short barking laugh is devoid of any humor as Damon and Elena carefully _don't_ look at each other.

"I have some pictures to show you but they're pretty gruesome, I have to warn you. They've been robbing me of sleep for over three days now." He shoots a glance at Elena who's face is unusual blank and tight.

Damon's response is immediate. "Wait outside, Elena, or grab yourself a coffee. I'll get you again when the worst is over." He tries to not let his voice sound pleading, partly to keep up the charade and when she, predictably, opens her mouth to protest he harshly adds: "We've talked about this, Elena. You're still too young for certain things, I don't want any trouble with over ambitious childcare workers."

She barely refrains from stomping her foot and slamming the door when she leaves the room but Damon doesn't feel bad for a second. Though he usually admires her determination not to back down from whatever evil happens to be thrown at her there are boundaries for everything and he's definitely setting them at her looking at pictures of her boyfriend's victims. Five minutes into the big pictured presentation he's positively relieved that he did , too.

It's a close-up of the dead girl, although he couldn't be sure about that if it weren't for the face. It has the typical awkwardness, not quite fitting symmetry of a girl who just entered her teenage years and the dark brown hair at her temples bears still more semblance to fluffy childish hair. Her grey eyes are frozen open and, like the rest of her face, almost expressionless. Damon's not sure if that makes it better or worse than if it would have been showing fear and panic. The rest of her body is ripped apart, bloody and maybe it's just his vampires' sense for aesthetic murder but something deep inside of him recoils violently. Almost unconsciously he notices that the girl's earlobes are a little swollen and reddened as if the tiny golden studs are the first ones she ever got.

"That's the worst", the sheriff rasps beside him. "We couldn't find one wolf hair on her body, which means that she was killed solely by that strange torture device, whatever the fucking hell it is. Normally we would check her for sexual abuse but with a- ….I mean, like that, it would be completely pointless."

"I understand", Damon responds, his voice strangely clipped.

When the screen finally turns black, the sheriff hands him the envelope that contains the note which was found beside the bodies. On a single slip of expensive looking paper it says in bold, elegant handwriting:

_Your brother is coming along nicely. Give my regards to the lovely Elena, be sure to tell her how much Stefan's missing her._

"I don't quite know what to make of it", the sheriff admits. "Seems harmless enough if you ask me, like part of a letter. We only noticed it anyway because there was no blood on it although it was lying quite close to the bodies. So we figured it could be from the murderer but I personally think it's just a coincidence."

"Yes", Damon agrees while his fist is brutally squeezing the note. "I'm sure you're right."

Another couple of minutes pass with discussing what kind of warning should be issued to other campers and whether or not Damon has any information that will help solve the case. Seeing that he has none, Damon quickly compels him to forget their appearances and the whereabouts of the paper slip before they depart with a brisk handshake.

It's not until he's standing in the hallway, empty, with a clear view of his parked car outside, equally as empty, that he realizes something's off. He does a slow spin, trying to find a trace of Elena when he notices the open door to the small kitchen of the sheriff. Which is adjacent to the office he just left, where he distinctively remembers another door leading to said kitchen. And it was open.

"Shit. Merde. Cazzo. Kuso. Scheiße. Mierda. ROBHO. Skit. Ha siktir. Merda. SHIT!"

He would probably go on like this forever, exhausting every vocabulary knowledge that still remains of his past journeys, if it weren't for the fact that he needs to be silent to listen for her. When he does, he almost wishes he could just go back to swearing, shut out this horrible whimpering sound that seems to come from the bathroom of the sheriff's office.

* * *

><p>She's lying on the floor now, her cheek pressed to the cool, grey tiles while her hands are clenching in involuntary spasms, pinching her palms, scratching the knuckles with her nails. She has tried to throw up, but she could only dry heave, her breath accelerating until her throat seemed to close up so that nothing could come out but no air was coming in either. She must have passed out then, because she can't remember toppling over but now the toilet is looming over her and her body is covered in cold sweat. The picture of the dead girl is burning painfully behind her eyes, intersected with a memory of Stefan while they made love so very tenderly. Although she hasn't done so in a long time she suddenly yearns desperately for her mother, for someone who's embrace and scent was the ultimate and never failing solution to all troubles.<p>

"Mom", she whines. "Mommy." Her voice is getting higher without her intention, "Mom", resembles the fearful whimpering of a puppy now. "Mommy, Mommy."

When she finally hears the clapping of the bathroom door there's not a hint of a doubt on her mind about who this will be. Sure enough, a fraction of a second later his hands are clasping hers, stilling their frantic movements. She let's herself be pulled into a sitting position and all but slumps into his ready embrace.

"Damn it, Elena, why can't you ever do what I tell you!" he whispers hoarsely in her hair.

It's rhetorical, of course, so she just keeps on pressing her face hard into his chest, barely holding back from reaching inside his button-up and slipping her arms inside his sleeves in the attempt to crawl into him, hide under his skin. Instead she thinks that his smell might not be as calming and familiar as her mother's but that it's as close as it could possibly get. There are deep, unfamiliar humming sounds coming out of his throat, together with an unceasing stream of "I got you, Elena. I'm here now. I got you", delivered in a foreign, soothing voice, and she shuts her eyes very tightly, trying to blank her mind from anything but this: "I'm here now, Elena."

On the way to their next hotel, she's cowering on her front-seat, pulling her body as close together as she can manage while she tries to concentrate on the words of the radio host. Damon turned it on after she asked him to and now he's giving her quick, observing side glances which she doesn't mind, really, because he just seems to make sure that she's still lucid, not urging her to talk or purge or anything. Her breathing is slowly returning to her normal pace when the guy from the radio suddenly interrupts the ad about some stupid local car repair.

"_As we just got informed, the police is officially issuing a warning to campers in Chattahoochee National Forest after the murder of a fa-"_

He is quick to turn the radio off but Elena's already filling in the blanks and her body starts to shake again, that strange whimpering voice building up in the back of her throat.

"Elena", he calls to her from the driver's seat, but she doesn't seem to hear him so he reaches over and slips his hand under her hair, pressing it in the nape of her neck as his thumb slides slowly up and down in a soothing movement. Feeling his hand _there_, at the place where he's proven to be so lethal to humans, including her own brother, and knowing that she is the one person who will never have a reason to be afraid of him touching that part of her is quite possibly the most reassuring feeling she ever had. The shivers subside, her breathing slows, air moving deeply in and out, calmed by the warm pressure of his palm and his thumb that is steadily tracing her throat, caressing the spot where he'd kill anyone but her.

His hand stays there for the rest of the drive.

Later in yet another hotel room, she feels so tired all of a sudden that she merely slumps on one of the single beds, not even bothering to change her clammy clothes before she curls herself together in fetal position and shuts her eyes and begins to list American states in order to keep her mind busy.

When she awakes it must be hours later because it's dark in the room except for the light of a street lamp that is shining through a gap in the curtains. Her body is simultaneously cold and hot under the bedspread, the skin feels too tight for her body and her legs are moving restlessly as goose bumps erupt all over her in irregular intervals while the back of her throat feels dry and raspy. When she tries to get up to drink some water, her head starts throbbing, confused by the room which is swaying in front of her eyes and something menacing is moving in the darkness of the corners. She hasn't felt like this in years, but there is no mistaking that crappy state of her body: Elena has high fever. Knowing that doesn't make it any less awful though, and the obscure creatures in the dark don't go away despite the fact that she's telling herself that they're not real. Barely suppressing jumbled noises of distress, for the umpteenth time this day, her body shuddering with every tiny movement, Elena slowly feels her way towards the other bed where she's just able to make out his form.

"Damon ?", she whispers when she feels the bedspread under her fingertips, but it's almost inaudible, the fever robbing her of any strength of voice.

Feeling increasingly weak, she sinks on the edge of the bed and gropes for the switch of the small nightstand lamp in the hope that the light will do the job that her voice is no longer able to. Finally she locates the small button and the warm glow spreads over the bed, revealing Damon who is facing away from her. Only for a moment though, because he rolls on his back now, apparently disturbed, though unfortunately not woken, by the light. Elena has a sudden déjà-vu of a fairytale, the title long forgotten, where the princess is not allowed to look at her bewitched bear husband at night and when she inevitable does so anyway she discovers a beautiful prince instead of the beast. There used to be an illustration, showing the girl, her eyes wide with wonder, holding a dripping wax candle over the man in her bed. Elena had to look at it very carefully every time. It must be the fever talking, letting seem everything surreal, filling her with a sense of mystery as she looks at him. She's not even sure if this moment is real, has never been able to tell during a fever fantasy but she's spellbound by the sight all the same: his fingers are curled loosely beside his face, the cheeks flushed and beneath long lashes which are rimming delicate eyelids his eyes seem to move rapidly. His mouth is parted a bit, the shadow of beard stubble is darkening his jaw and at his temple, on the side where he slept on, the black hair is slightly damp and curly. He's still sleeping, breathing in and out in a deep, slow rhythm.

_He looks like a little boy_ she marvels, and _he looks nothing like a boy at all_.

Shivers and goose bumps are still racing across her skin with fever, her ears filled with some kind of ringing noise when the urge to touch him becomes all at once unbearable.

_You can't touch him_, her mind protests, _he'll wake up! I'll be careful, _she argues back_, I'll just touch his cheek, just his cheek._

Still not completely sure if she is even awake or just has a vivid and disturbing fever dream, she ever so slowly reaches out and carefully presses two fingers to the flushed skin where his cheekbone makes a sharp line in the dim light. He feels almost as heated as her own fever burning body. _I just want to touch his jaw for a second,_ the voice in her mind speaks up again whereas the part that did protest is increasingly getting muted. As if compelled, her fingers slowly slide down and graze the dark stubble which scrapes pleasantly over her sensitive, feverish skin, reminding her of a kitten's tongue. _I just have to see if the skin behind his ear is as soft as I imagine,_ and she simply obeys that voice now, sliding upwards and behind his ear shell where he feels as smooth as the insides of her own thighs. _His hair now, there, where it's all curly and disheveled_ and when she feels the silky soft curls pressed between her fingers it's all she can do to not grab as much of it as possible with both of her hands. She's shaking uncontrollably now, her head burning up to a scorching degree, the room seems to cave in around her and there's that voice in her mind, urging her _Touch him! Touch him!_ until she's unable to stop herself. With open palms she strokes over his forehead, his nose, traces his soft neck and presses, curls her fingers around the strong muscles and sinews of his shoulders and collarbones, her labored breath coming out with slight hissing noises.

"Elena, what are you doing?" there is a sudden, confused sounding whisper in her ear and that's when she notices that she must've leaned down while touching him because her face is mere inches from his and the blue of his eyes is overwhelming when she looks up dazedly. There is a part of her that is acutely aware that now, at the very least, she has to get up and probably ask for some kind of medicine but the fever is still controlling her, filling her with a sense of unreality and telling her that she doesn't have to hold onto her morals if this a dream. So her eyes drop back to his mouth which is so tantalizingly close that she feels his breath on her skin, gets a glimpse of white teeth and the movement of his tongue.

"No, _no_" he moans agonized when he realizes what the direction of her gaze means. "Don't do that, Elena", he grasps her waist with both hands and gasps when he notices her increased body temperature. "You have fever, you're not thinking clearly." He sets about pushing her back, but Elena starts to whimper again in that tone of hers that he just discovered today.

"Just wanna taste, please, just one, want to, just one…" she rambles incoherently and presses her overheated, trembling body even closer, her eyes never leaving his lips. And God help him, but he has wanted to hear something like this from her for such a painfully long time now and he honestly can't stop his hands from slowly beginning to pull her the other way.

Damon seems to be afraid to continue breathing, when she slowly opens her mouth, lets the tip of her tongue slip out and his own reaches out involuntarily to meet her halfway. The feeling of his soft, wet tongue circling hers is so all consuming that every other muscle collapses, causing her to sink down on his chest, closing the last shred of distance and melting their lips together. Nothing has prepared her for this, not his enforced, furious kiss on that cursed night and not the short, gentle one she pressed on his unmoving lips mere weeks ago. _This_ is the first real kiss they ever share and the taste of him is causing her head to spin. Her tremors take hold of his body too, making them shudder in each other's arms as their tiny whimpering noises sound loud in the otherwise quiet room. Elena is almost utterly convinced by now that this is a fantasy, the agonizingly slow, tender slide of his tongue around hers couldn't possibly feel _this_ right and dizzying, making every single cell of her body glow with pleasure. Clawing her hands in his body and having Damon's gripping her trembling hips so very tightly, she wishes desperately that this fever dream would never end.

It takes a sudden cold pressure against her stomach to jolt her out of this frenzy. Apparently she has covered him completely with her body at some point and her shirt must have ridden up, exposing her to the cool metal of his belt buckle. She scrambles to stand up, swaying when she does, her lower lip trembling when she finally realizes that it was real, that all of it really just happened.

"Damon? I didn't-, I thought I was sleeping, I mean-, is this real? So sorry.." she falls silent, trying to avoid his eyes, to avoid the hurt and desperation that will surely be there.

"It's okay," he tells her, even if it takes him a little while to respond. "I understand," he's using that soothing voice again, though it sounds a little more detached now. "You have really high fever, Elena, I should have never-," he exhales forcefully. " It's my fault. Just go back to bed and let's forget about it"

She's sure that she never hated herself more in all of her life, she's positively disgusted with herself for doing this to him, for letting him take all the blame, but she says nothing because the relief that he really believes she was out of it is equally as strong. While she crawls cautiously back under the cover he mutters something about being downstairs to ask for some medicine and then the door closes softly behind him. Elena tries to hold back the dry sobs that threaten to spill out of her throat when that small, awful voice begins to nag her again.

_You knew this was real and not your imagination, no use pretending otherwise. You wanted this to happen, hell, deep down you've been wanting this for a longer time than you care to admit._

"No, no" she whispers croakily, "I didn't, I swear, I didn't, it was the fever!"

_That's a lie and you know it._

And she feels tempted to literally wail, because she knows it's true. There is no more hiding the truth in her own mind and no ignoring of tonight's truth either. Because if everything about it was real, then the feel of his tongue on hers was also true. Suppressing the sobs is damn near impossible now for how can she go back to the way things were when she knows now kissing him feels so devastatingly _right_, equally arousing and calming while overshadowing in a few short minutes whatever she had believed to be bliss until now?

She pulls the covers over her head, draws her legs up and burrows her face in the pillow, her hands balled into tight fists. She is the most thorough orphan on the planet, Bonnie and Caroline would have a hard time understanding her, there is no one with whom she could talk about it, not even really with herself.

"Mom," she whispers silently in the dark. "Mommy".


	4. Chapter 4: Road Trip Bonding

**A/N Sorry for the delay, here is chapter four. There's quite a bit of talking in it but I felt it was necsessary. Not that they would talk about the really important stuff, mind you! Thanks again to my wonderful beta waltzmatilda! So, I hope you like it and as usual, let me know what you think, ok?  
><strong>

**Road Trip Bonding**

In the morning both Damon and Elena are sporting a bad conscience over what had happened during the night, although admittedly Damon does only know half of Elena's guilt. As a consequence they act a little too friendly and considerate with one another and Elena gets the distinct impression that if they add just one more piece to the pile of unmentionables they're both going to explode. It pains her to see how hard Damon tries to not let his disappointment show, how he beats himself up because he thinks it was solely his fault for not stopping her in that fever crazed state of mind. She's almost tempted to confess that she was at least partly lucid, but it's what lies behind that confession that holds her back and makes her prefer watching him hurt. Besides, it's not as if she's not hurting herself. All her teeth scrubbing after breakfast hadn't been able to erase his taste from her mouth, still lingering bitter sweetly on her tongue, driving her slowly insane.

There had been another call from Sheriff Forbes in the morning, informing them that another attack had happened further south, near Athens. According to the local deputies, another note had been found by the bodies which prompted Damon to mutter to himself.

"What the fuck does he think we're doing here? Some kind of scavenger hunt?"

Though the fever had dropped noticeably, she's still rather weak, so when she insists on leaving immediately, he only agrees under the condition that she has to lay down on the backseat with a blanket. Elena is tempted to refuse, after all, obeying Damon isn't something she likes to do, no matter how reasonable his suggestions might be. However, she really is a little unwell, plus she won't have to look at him at all if she doesn't turn her head in the wrong direction. Which is probably a good thing, take away the visual temptation so she may get rid of her persisting urge to touch him. The first half hour passes in silence until Damon suddenly seems to decide that it's enough with the brooding and he tries to play silly games with her which she refuses to engage in by arguing that she feels too weak. Her listlessness causes him to heave an comically exasperated sigh.

"Fine, Elena, what would _you_ like to do then?"

"Don't know," she mumbles, clouds passing before her absentminded eyes.

He sounds literally desperate by now. "Well, what do you usually do when you're ill?"

Elena nearly snickers at his persistence. "My mom used to put on Beatles CD's for me", she tells him, her voice going soft at the memory.

"Ha!" Damon starts immediately rummaging around in his glove compartment and seconds later the opening chords of '_I wanna be Your Man'_ are filling the car's interior.

This time she can't help giggling for real. "Seriously, Damon, _you_ listen to The Beatles?"

He turns to her with an expression that very clearly says _duh_. "Come on, Elena, it's _The Beatles._ I would have to be stupid and/or deaf to not like them."

While listening to the familiar melodies and humming along occasionally, she feels herself relax a little as images of happy childhood memories of her mom flood her mind. It will never cease to amaze her, she feels certain of that, how even with all their messed up problems Damon still has the ability to set her at complete ease. It's somehow fitting considering he also seems to have the habit of riling her up to a manic, spit, kick and scratch, degree.

His voice interrupts her pondering. "What's your favorite Beatles song, Elena?" She feels him watching her with eager eyes.

She thinks about it for a minute. ' _All my Loving'_ is her assured answer then.

"Ah", Damon sighs and nods knowingly. "A legitimate, if a little predictable, answer. Every girl loves that song, makes them get all gooey and romantic."

She feels a little huffy with that, not at all enjoying being compared with his league of woman acquaintances.

"What's _your_ favorite Beatles song then?" her tone just a tiny bit sharp.

His answer is so prompt that he must have decided on that matter a long time ago. "_Something_".

"But that song is just as romantic!" she exclaims unreasonably triumphant.

"Mhmh, that's what _you_ think." His voice sounds so mischievous that whatever will follow is bound to be inappropriate. "But actually, the song is a very clever musical depiction of sex."

"Sex? Really Damon? You think about _sex_ when you're listening to '_Something_'?" She's quite proud of her convincingly patronizing tone of voice, however, Damon doesn't seem to be even remotely fazed by it.

"Absolutely," he agrees wholeheartedly. "I'll even tell you why." He doesn't bother to give her some time to protest. "It starts out really sweet, a slow drum, melodious guitars, just like foreplay. It can be as wonderful as it gets but it's still only the prelude that leads to something more. The lyrics go somewhere along the lines of lover, move and wooing etc., enough to get you in the right mood, but you're too distracted to _really_ listen. Along comes the first build-up, higher octave, increased drum rhythm, similar to when you get the first taste of ecstasy, long before the real climax hits you. Even though it's not the real thing, it still gets you hooked, your anticipation is climbing. During the second verse, again with the sweet voice and melodious guitars, you're already relatively impatient but you're savoring it at the same time because you know what's coming now. Then, finally, the pace is doubling, the singers voice gets higher, something like "don't wanna leave her now" and before you know it, the bridge is already rushing over you. So perfect and surreal that it sounds like a whole choir, though you can't be sure, the drum thrumming as fast as your blood is so loud in your ears. It makes you want to claw at something and throw your head back while you're singing along to the only line that you ever catch here: I don't know! Which is completely fitting because your mind is only a jumbled mess at this point anyway. The whole thing lasts only for a few seconds, after that it's back to slow guitars, calm drum beats and an all-around pleasant afterglow. That short part in the middle though, is of such utter perfection that it never _ever _gets old and all you really want to do is press the rewind button and listen to it again… and again… _and again_."

"Ridiculous." She tries to swallow around the dryness in her throat. "That's completely ridiculous.."

"Maybe", Damon's eyes are practically bursting with salaciousness as he throws her a glance over his shoulder. "But it's still true…."

"Remind me to never ask you for a mix CD, will you?" she scoffs as the easiness of just a few minutes ago is again replaced with a heavy load of sexual tension. Elena's pretty sure that he did it on purpose.

It's around noon when they stop in front of a road side diner and Damon leaves her in the car for a minute to get something to eat. When he returns her eyes grow wide at the amount of food that he dumps into her lap.

"I'm _ill_, not starving or something!" she reminds him.

"You might as well be", he replies. "You have lost too much weight over the last months, gaunt is not a good look for you. Lose any more and we might have to put you on a billboard for UNICEF. You're going to eat this, Elena, it's not negotiable."

She can't decide if she should be cross about his patronizing behavior or rather slightly flattered that he noticed her weight loss at all. Stefan never commented on it – then again, he probably only thought it wasn't his place to say something. Damon, as usual, is not concerned in the least with such petty notions as boundaries and sensitivity.

"You know, for someone who hasn't had a human illness in over a century, you're pretty impudent bossing me around like that." Elena makes a feeble attempt at giving him one of her death stares.

"But I still remember perfectly what _my_ mother used to do when we got sick: _you're not leaving this bed, Damon! There won't be another story until you finish this soup, Damon!_ And on and on and on."

"Your mother used to tell you stories when you were ill?"

"Mhm", he confirms. "And she was _terrific_, imitating voices, scaring me to death, the whole deal. She could get me to do anything by threatening to leave a story unfinished." This is another unknown voice of him, fond and almost sentimental as he recalls his mother. She tries to get a look of him, see the expression that goes along to that particular voice but all she can see from her position are the short strands of black hair at his neck. This is no good because it reminds her of how they felt, pressed between her fingers last night.

"Will you tell me a story?" she asks him on a sudden impulse and maybe to distract herself.

"What? No!" is his immediate answer. "I strongly doubt that I know any which would be fit for the ears of an ill, underage girl."

"You could tell me how you fell in love with Katherine", she suggests after a short moment of hesitance.

"Now why would you want to hear that story, Elena?" his voice is suddenly very serious.

"I just want to understand", she explains. "All _I_ ever saw of her was so – _evil_. But Stefan said that she didn't compel you, so you must have seen something in her that I can't. I don't get it but if you told me, maybe I could, you know, understand."

His fingers are thrumming on the steering wheel as he grudgingly considers her request.

"Alright", he finally relents. "But it's by no means a happily ever after fairytale, never was, not even back then. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Okay", Elena breathes. She snuggles deeper into her blanket, feeling immensely thrilled by the prospect of him finally revealing this part of his past that always felt unfathomable to her.

There is a short silence while he seems to decide what to tell her exactly, what parts to include and what to better leave out.

"Has Stefan ever told you that I fought in the Civil War?" he begins by asking her.

The information sounds vaguely familiar to her although she can't remember ever really thinking about it. "I think he mentioned it once, why?"

"Well, you have to understand what state of mind I was in when I returned home and saw her for the first time. I don't know if you have a grandfather who told you what it's like to be a soldier?"

She shakes her head once.

"Yeah, thought so. Fact is, being in a war usually changes a man - a lot. I enlisted, feeling all chipper and proud to finally do something right in my father's eyes, and basically expected a big adventure. God, was I _stupid_ back then… though it took not very long for me to notice that I couldn't have been more wrong. They gave me a gun, tried to teach me obedience and failed miserably, I've never liked being commanded by morons. After the so-called 'training' they threw us out onto the battle fields and it was hell. Nothing as loud as gunfire, or as paralyzing. In the beginning you lose control over your body, feel like pissing yourself or just running off to hide somewhere. After that it gets even worse: men screaming in unnaturally high voices, the stench of vomit, gun powder, sweat and _blood_, there's blood everywhere, pooling around your feet and spattering your skin. If you're particularly unlucky it's the blood of your childhood friend. Away from the battle fields there's cold, disease, dirt and hunger – and not one pretty woman for miles and miles", he adds in a weak attempt to lighten up the tone of his narrative as he catches a glimpse of Elena's eyes which are fixing him in a shocked, open stare.

"When we invaded union territory the people were looking at me terrified and pleading because they always expected the worst from us. In their eyes I already was a murderer. Some men relished in the freedom for savage that a war grants, they started behaving like monsters, slaughtering whenever they felt like it, raping women when they could get their hands on them. Whatever I had thought to be right and unquestionable in the world was quickly beginning to fade away, there seemed to be no end to the evil humans were capable of. When I finally returned home on leave I was virtually starved for something good and beautiful , something to remind me that there was a world away from the war. And then I saw her-" Elena's unconsciously holding her breath as she suddenly pictures Katherine in her mind, seen through the eyes of a young, disillusioned, war returned Damon.

He exhales slowly. "She was _so_ beautiful, without a doubt the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was also full of life, always giggling, laughing, her curls ever bobbing on her shoulders. The swishing sound of her skirts was everywhere in the house. She was nothing like the other girls in town either, she never lowered her eyes or hid her smile. When she ran you could sometimes see her legs, it was gloriously shameless. " He shows her another of his lewd smirks.

"Of course I pursued her, it was exciting what freedoms she took with me and after she let me in her bed I was lost. This may come as a shock to you, Elena, but back then my success rate was not as stunning as it is today when it came to seducing girls, at least if they were from a decent family. The only conceivable reason for a girl like her to sleep with me was her being in love with me which in turn caused my own feelings to grow, of course. Then she told me her little secret and it became more a question of how _not_ to fall in love with her. At that time, I was fed up with so-called humanity which had turned out to be a mere joke. At least her blood thirst and cruelty were truly a part of her nature, she destroyed with reason and power. You should have seen her, fangs out, tightly laced corset , licking a drop of my blood from her lips– she was truly breathtaking. Everything I had experienced in war – she had seen much worse. Whatever guilt I had laden upon myself – she wouldn't judge me. Whatever blasphemy and anarchic thoughts I couldn't tell anyone, much less a girl – she had already voiced them. I didn't have to pretend in front of her, telling her that war was noble and heroic when in truth I felt that it was the most demented thing to ever have been invented by mankind. Not only did she remind me of everything that was precious on this earth, laughter, dance and beauty, she also carried a part inside of her which was just as dark, if not darker than mine. While everyone else was constantly deluding themmselves, lying and faking, Katherine was the only honest person, or so I thought", he ends on a bitter note.

Elena can see it now, how irresistible she must have seemed back then, beckoning with undiscovered delights and mysteries. For a short second she feels a little in love with Katherine herself.

"When did you find out about Stefan?" she asks.

"Pretty early to be honest, but I only realized afterwards how far she went with him. Until then I had always assumed that she was just flirting and playing with Stefan, the way she did with so many men, after all he was nothing more than a kid, innocent, spoiled and obedient. I failed to see how she might find him desirable, after everything I knew about her." He seems to want to say something else but instead makes a tiny bitter sound in the back of his throat. "And that was the story of Damon Salvatore and the woman who really didn't give a shit", he finishes with great, sardonic flourish.

Elena feels the impulse to hug him again, but refrains thinking about the tremendous success she's had with that so far. Instead she tries for her best evil voice and hisses: "When we finally kill her I want to be the one with the stake!"

Damon snorts loudly, effectively breaking the depressive mood in the car. "Maybe we can do it together" he suggests fiercely, and Elena feels so close to him than ever before.

"Thank you for telling me", she murmurs, her eyelids already dropping when she hears his quiet "You're welcome" in response.

She awakes because the car has come to a standstill at a gas station as she realizes when she lifts her head to look out of the window. It's already getting dark, the sky a dark blue, the neon lights are switched on and when she opens the door the damp, chilly night air envelopes her, smelling of fuel and the freshly mowed grass of the surrounding fields. She feels overly awake, an indicator that the fever is completely gone and stretches herself, trying to get her muscles loose again after the long hours spent in a not too comfortable position. Damon is apparently still paying in the brightly lit little shop so she makes a short visit to the ladies room, all the time feeling somehow cleansed, as if the fever cleared her pores and vision. The white of the tiles is startling, the swoosh of the water tap sounds unusually loud. She can think of the picture of that girl now while her breath remains regular, a strange detachment and strength cursing through her body. When Elena returns to the car Damon's already waiting for her and turns back on the road while she takes her place on the front seat again and winds the window down to let the cool air stream in and whip her hair around her face. The darkness in the car makes it easier for her to finally ask him what has been bothering her since yesterday.

"Do you think it was really Stefan who killed that girl?"

He's not looking at her when he answers. "I don't bash on my baby bro in front of you, Elena. That's not my style."

"I know that", she says quietly and pauses for a moment. "You also never lie to me."

"God damn it!" he curses softly under his breath as his shoulders slump a little in defeat. "Fine! Yes, yes I think he did it. A Stefan who has lost control is unpredictable, there is no telling what he would or wouldn't do. And in this case, everything speaks against him."

"I don't see how I could ever look at him the same way again if he truly did it…" her voice is a little thin.

"Of course you will", Damon assures her immediately. "You're a bottomless pit when it comes to forgiveness. Remember that guy who snapped your brother's neck? Yeah? The one youe'v slept in the same room with for weeks now?"

"This is different," she insists. "Whenever you do something idiotic you've at least got a reason. That doesn't make it better, I know, but I can still see where you're coming from. With Stefan it's like someone else takes over, someone I don't know who kills just for the fun of it."

"I did that too, you know", he admits in a serious voice. "I used to kill just because I could and no one was stopping me."

Beside him Elena tries very hard not to lose her newfound calmness and, more nervous now, poses her next question. "Have you ever killed a child?"

He looks at her with a strangely gentle expression. "No. That's the only one of my moral boundaries that I never broke. Hopefully I never will."

Relief washes over her, so strong, that she can't speak for a few seconds. But she is not done yet. "When you feed, do you ever make such a – bloodbath?" She's focusing on her nails now, still a little afraid of his answer.

"Not like that, no" he denies again. There's a dry, tiny smile on his lips when she looks up at him. "I like things that are beautiful, Elena. Even if it's only a beautiful kill."

Later, after their arrival she's lying on the bed watching the evening news when he announces that he'll be already heading out for the police station to get a first quick look. She has the natural impulse to insist that he taker her along, but then she remembers the last time she did that and just nods instead. There's nothing in the news yet about the most recent attack and after 20 minutes of passively consuming a documentary about the life of orphaned kangaroo babies she turns the TV off and heads for the bathroom to take a shower. She's almost through the door when her eyes get caught by something that's lying on the chair beside the small table. It turns out to be one of Damon's usual black t-shirts, he must have changed before he headed out. Her fingers stroke carefully over the soft cotton while she debates internally if she, just maybe, could pick it up to see if his scent still lingers in the cloth. After all, she has been so virtuous today, not touching him once although all the parts of her body were constantly begging her to. _Nobody will ever know_ is her last thought before she buries her nose in the shirt and inhales deeply. As it turns out his scent did not so much linger as more saturate it, spicy, bitter and sweetness somewhere underneath it all, the intensity of it making her head swim almost immediately. She remembers reading something about certain scent molecules that make a woman seem sexually desirable to men, triggering some primal part in their brain and how Caroline used to joke about getting such a fragrance for herself. Maybe it works the other way round too, because there has to be a factual reason why his scent seems to be enough to get her blood boiling. Unfortunately, she is so immersed at this moment that the telltale click of the door registers too late in her conscience. Damon's already on her with a loud hiss, drastically invading her personal space before she can put his shirt back where it belongs.

"What exactly do you think you're doing there?" She has never felt so embarrassed in her whole life, her cheeks flaming under his persistent stare.

"I …I just wanted t-to see if it smelled..you know, if – if it had to be w-washed.." she stammers while his half smirk is mocking her efforts.

"Just watch it, Elena", his voice no more than a low growl now. "I've given you a free pass so far but my patience is wearing thin. Kissing me on my deathbed? Yeah, well, you've always been compassionate, probably just wanted to give the dying man a goodbye present. Your jealousy in the bar? Fine, I thought, maybe it's just some fucked up psychological stuff. Feeling me up last night? Already harder to stretch but, ok, let's blame the fever. Now _this_, smelling my shirt like some lovesick teenager, is in no way equivocal. This is your final warning, Elena, if you give me so much as one more sign that you secretly want me, I swear to God, but then it's over with the nice platonic pretense. I've already waited longer for you than I did for any other woman, I'm not going to keep it up if this here", he indicates the small space between them, "is mutual."

Now she has finally gathered her temper. "Oh that's just noble, Damon! So you decide how to misinterpret my actions and fit them into your sick little scheme, before you just - what! Seduce the girlfriend of your brother who just sacrificed everything to keep you alive! Nice example of brotherly love!"

"_Or_ I could just decide that it's despicable to stand idly by whilst knowing that my brother's girl in secret lusts after me…." he's purring the words in her face like a caress.

"I will never forgive you if you take advantage of me just because Stefan's absent…" She can't believe that he would still be capable of something like that, after all the progress he's made.

"Oh, let me clarify: I won't take any advantage, _you_ will have to be the one to make the first move. All I will have to do is show you what you're missing out on, tempting you, constantly, until you just can't take it anymore."

He's so close now that all she can see is the black and blue of his eyes, binding her to the spot.

"One more slip on your account, Elena, that's my last warning."

Finally he releases her.


	5. Chapter 5: A Conversation Between Women

**A/N Though this chapter is truly necessary, I'm really excited for the next one which I'm currently writing on. Seriously, it is so much fun, you'll probably guess why after reading this. As usual, thanks goes out to my wonderful beta waltzmatildah! I hope all of you enjoy this and if you do, or don't, yes, that's okay too, please leave me a review, ok? It is truly insiring and helpful to hear what you guys think...  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>A Conversation Between Women<strong>

The following night is not one of her best; she keeps tossing and turning, twisting in her sheets while fruitlessly trying to decipher the hundreds of different thoughts and emotions that are coursing through her mind. All this time she is spending with Damon is starting to mess with her head. She feels like she's slowly losing the ground beneath her feet, falling upside down and changing into a new, unknown Elena who reacts differently, thinks differently and, most of all, has emotions that are so strong and foreign that it scares her.

When it's finally getting light outside she immediately gets up to take a shower and does her best to ignore her pale, tired face in the bathroom mirror. It's only when she hears Damon get up on the other side of the door that she remembers where he went last night and why. She waits five safe minutes in order to not disturb him in any state of undress, which would be so unnecessary the way things are right now. Then she emerges hesitantly from the bathroom, her eyes still downcast, although checking with a little glance that he is in fact, thankfully, completely dressed.

"Did you find anything yesterday at the police station?" She doesn't exactly look at him, so she misses the strangely covert look that passes Damon's face for a second.

"That depends on what you're looking for", he answers her slowly. "There was another note and if my abilities of deduction don't mislead me, Klaus is well aware of the fact that we're following him."

"What do you mean he knows we're following him?" Her sharp intake of breath sounds slightly panicked.

"Just that, he knows it and it seems to amuse him, world's biggest asshole that he is. The message went somewhere along the lines of _just keep on chasing us, we'll be faster anyway_ and oh, yes _try to have fun along the way."_

Something about this last bit sounds suspicious to her ears so she asks sternly to see the note.

"Sorry, I felt a bit enraged after reading it so I might have ripped it to shreds and dumped it in the gutter; you know me and my temper…" Although his apologetic, not at all sorry, smirk is pretty convincing and completely in character, Elena has the mounting feeling that he's not telling her the whole truth.

"You wouldn't try to keep something from me now, would you? Surely not you?" Her scrutinizing stare would probably be more convincing if she were able to hold it longer but she has difficulties meeting his eyes now for more than five seconds, afraid of all the things that her own might give away in front of him.

"Elena, have I ever done that?" he gives her big eyes, as innocent as his can possibly get.

She realizes it's not exactly an answer to her question but the thought of what might be bad enough to make him not want to tell her outright about it causes her to hold back from further inquiries. Maybe Damon senses some of her worries because the next second he's standing closer to her, aiming to meet her gaze for real this time.

"We're heading for Atlanta today, I don't care where they decide to behave badly next. Let's forget about them for a day, okay?"

Of course she doesn't accept his offer. She may be unsure about her feelings lately but that doesn't mean that she'd suddenly start to behave irresponsible and look out for her own enjoyment.

"Absolutely not!" she rages. "This is a rescue mission, not some kind of vacation in case you have forgotten. We don't just take a day off to _have some fun_!"

"Would you please take a look at yourself for a minute, Elena?" he says gently, not joining her in her temper fit this time. "You just got over some weird sickness, you haven't been sleeping at all last night, you still look underfed and now you're practically shaking and can't even look me in the eye any longer. If there ever was somebody who needed a day off it would be you, plus, you're of absolutely no use to Stefan if you're strung up like a crack addict as well."

Elena really wants to give a sharp reply but she's pretty sure that she will dissolve into tears the minute she tries to say something. Kindness shown by Damon is always more overwhelming than if it comes from any other person because it's so rare and not to mention he's actually telling the truth; she's shaking like a leaf, fighting lack of sleep and an overdose of unwanted emotions. So she just nods hesitantly, breathes "_Okay_" and is infinitely grateful that he's not touching her in any way. One contact would be enough right now to transform her into a tear flooded nervous wreck.

When they're speeding along the highway half an hour later, the roof of the car down, the sun in the back coloring her hair golden, she can already feel her muscles loosen up as she leaves behind slaughtered bodies and painfully wonderful smelling shirts.

"Where are you taking me anyway?", she asks in a tone that is still pretending to be mad at him. "Are you planning to soothe my nerves by booking the penthouse for us?" Maybe she hadn't wanted it to come out quite that hopeful.

"Sorry to disappoint you", he answers her cheerily, "but we're actually crashing at an ex lover's of mine's."

Surely she must have misheard him. "I'm sorry, did you just say that you're planning on spending the night in the house of an ex-lover of yours?"

"No need to worry, it ended in a natural way." Again, his small smile hints at a private joke but this time she doesn't even consider asking further.

The neighborhood where he finally slows the car is decent and charming, rows of colorful, painted houses with carefully manicured front yards, some of them less attentively cultivated. Damon, of course, stops in front of the house with the most overgrown fence and feral lawn, though it's also the most colorful one. Whatever she might have expected after hearing "ex-lover", it surely wasn't this. The woman who opens the door must be in her late sixties or early seventies which gives a whole new perspective to Damon's earlier remark. For a woman this age, she is remarkably beautiful. Under the wrinkled but healthy looking skin, her bone structure remains graceful, her huge grey eyes still clear and dominant in her face. The luxuriant white hair is combed back in a long braid and she's clothed in an elegant woolen dress. As she realizes whom she just opened her door to her shoulder slumps a little against the door frame.

"Damon", she breathes finally, her eyes raking over him. An instant later a warm, solemn smile breaks out on her face as she stretches her hands towards him. "_Come here."_

He takes one step forward and the woman lays her head on his chest as her hands stroke over his back in long, sure movements. When she releases him after a while her lashes are glistening and she has to wipe at them with an embarrassed smile.

"Oh Eva", Damon sighs. "What now?"

"Nothing, nothing", she assures him with a playful slap on the arm. "It's just been a while and now you're here, looking so different, better, mostly – but also worse…"

Her grey eyes are clearly questioning him but Damon seems to decide to ignore her and instead pushes Elena forwards a bit, giving her shoulder an assuring squeeze.

"Eva, this is Elena, Stefan's girlfriend." The woman's smile makes her feel welcomed instantly, warm and open like it is. There is also a certain quality to her eyes that lets them appear unusually perceptive and sympathetic. All of it causes Elena to take an instant liking to Eva, to feel like she can completely trust her even if it's based on nothing more than a hunch.

After Damon gives a short explanation about their plans, Eva shows them upstairs where Elena gets some minutes alone in a cozy room overlooking the garden, enjoying the unmistakable atmosphere of a real, lived-in home after weeks of impersonal hotel rooms. As she makes her way back downstairs to the kitchen, she finds them standing very close to each other at the window while Damon is speaking urgently in a low voice. He looks up when she enters and grabs his jacket from the chair.

"I'm heading out for a while, will you be okay with Eva?" His hand is already touching the doorknob.

"Yeah, sure", she replies, as if there is anything else she could say. "But where are you - ….never mind", she finishes lamely as the sound of the closing door echoes in the kitchen. Luckily, Eva lowers her arm so quickly on her shoulders that she has barely any time to feel neglected or offended.

"You can help me prepare dinner, if you like", she suggest, making it somehow sound like an exciting plan. Sure enough, cutting vegetables in neat pieces and smelling the different frying spices does turn out to have an, if not exciting, at least calming effect on her.

"So, how did you two meet?" Elena asks, cutting the onions into tiny pieces while Eva chops a bushel of herbs on the other side of the table.

"During the Vietnam War, after I'd received notice that my husband was gone missing. Our exact meeting though is nothing out of the ordinary. I think he just saw me on the street. And I saw him." A small, sentimental smile is playing around her lips as she recalls that day. "I had a difficult time back then, the uncertainty of my husband's whereabouts, or whether he was still alive, it was torturous. Damon took the sting of loneliness away." Elena tries hard not to let her bewilderment show but some of it seems to be noticed by Eva. "I know what you're thinking: _what a vile thing to do, having an affair with another man while the husband is off fighting a war_. Maybe you're right, most people would probably think very little of me for it. However, I rarely found that the moral rules of our society apply to the reality of my life. Damon was the most extraordinary man I had ever seen, he still is, actually. There was no preventing my mind from committing adultery the minute I saw him, acting on it was only the rightful consequence to it in my eyes. You don't meet a person for nothing in your life, there was something to learn for me from Damon and something I could give to him in return."

"And what was that?" Elena has to ask, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Well, he obviously widened my horizon, made me see my own talents in a new perspective – I'll tell you later more about it," she adds as she catches Elena's curious look. "And, like I said, he took my loneliness away. As for what I could give him, I always like to think that I was able to soothe his pain, at least for a while, relieve a little of this inhuman hurt that he was carrying. And, of course, I taught him the ways of a woman's body – although, he was quite acquainted with those already, to be honest…" Her girlish giggle makes it easy for Elena to picture her as the young woman she must have been in the 70's.

"Sometimes I wonder if he ever had a relationship with a woman that didn't involve sleeping with her..." The words are slipping out of Elena's mouth before she can really think them through.

"That's a pretty young comment to make", Eva replies in a musing tone and although her smile remains friendly and understanding, Elena can't quite shake the feeling that she is being scolded. "You see, there are different truths for everybody, I always felt that you should find your own rules to go by. If you're given a talent, I believe you should also use it. Women have always loved Damon and he loves them." The look of her grey eyes is full of sympathy now. " And he seems to love you very much, sweetheart."

"I know", Elena's voice sounds awfully pressed as she feels herself balancing on the verge of tears for the second time that day. Out of nowhere Eva's hands are enveloping hers, causing her to drop the knife and shut her eyes tightly in order to hold back burning tears.

"It's okay, Elena, you can trust me", the older woman assures her in a gentle voice.

Her words and something in the press of Eva's hands urges her to lose control and before she can stop herself she's shaking, sobbing as she lets everything that has been weighing her down for months rush over her in a painful flood that threatens to suffocate her. Thankfully though, Eva is with her right in the middle of it, holding her, stroking her back and anchoring her with the gentle feel of cashmere against her cheek and her soothing smell of lavender. She provides her with tissues out of nowhere while Elena goes on crying as if her world just stopped. Gradually her sobs are subsiding and again Eva is right there.

"Why don't you tell me about it, hm?" More is not needed, here, finally, is someone whom she could talk to, a stranger basically, which only makes it easier to confess. So Elena takes a deep breath and lets everything pour out of her, all her secret thoughts, desires and worries, things she rarely admits to herself. Eva simply absorbs them all, not judging and commenting, just allowing her to unburden all of it to the ears of a person who doesn't play a part in the great cruel tragedy that her life seems to have turned into. There are things like _"I still do love Stefan"_ and _"how can anybody look at me like that"_, _"I should hate him"_ which is followed by _"I'm so scared"_ and at some point _"I'm so alone with this"._ The confession _"I can't be like Katherine"_ is succeeded by the helpless outcry "_I can never hurt Stefan like that, that's just not me"_ and after another flood of guilty ramblings she finally ends with _"I just don't understand how he can love me like this_". At this point Elena is merely sniffling and adverting her eyes from Eva's much too sympathetic gaze.

"I don't give advice," the woman finally says. "But I can promise you that none of it is your fault, even if you feel that way. And though you're doing now what you think is right, alone having these feelings is a kind of betrayal to Stefan, one that you can't even help committing, right? Inaction is an action too, Elena and right now, I think, it's causing a lot of damage, most of all to yourself. From what you've told me I can't see one way out that wouldn't hurt anyone. Damon tells me you're very selfless but at some point, sweetheart, even you will have to think of yourself. I won't give you all that nonsense about "_follow your heart_" etcetera, just bear in mind that people change, _you'll _change. Don't hold onto something just because it's safe and familiar and fits better in the picture of what you want your life to be like." Eva takes a deep breath and straightens her back. "That's enough so far, now give me your hands."

Unsure of where this is going, Elena slowly holds her hands out and lets Eva grab them in a firm hold. A few moments later she feels a warming sensation take over first her fingers, then her hands and finally crawling up her arms. Out of instinct she flinches a little but Eva merely tightens her hold.

"What is this?" she asks in a whisper, because the situation somehow seems to forbid loud voices. "Are you a witch?"

"No, no", Eva replies chuckling while her eyes remain closed. "I simply seem to have a special ability for healing. It works best for stomach pains and broken bones but I've found that it's sometimes effective with a troubled heart or mind too. No need to worry, it won't harm you in any way, I do it for all the people in the neighborhood."

Thus assured, Elena decides to accept this new weirdness that the world has to offer, closes her eyes too and simply concentrates on the wonderful , quiet warmth that is filling her body. The soothing sensation that envelopes her makes her feel calmer and more stable than she has in months. After a while she can feel herself getting drowsy, slumping against the back of the sofa and this time Eva lets go as her hands slip out of the woman's hold. She can feel hushed commotion around her and a little while later, Eva is again at her side, telling her that there's a full bathtub waiting for her if she'd like to bathe. Nothing could sound more wonderful right now and the bathroom that Eva shows her is so warm and friendly that Elena instantly slips into the hot, rose smelling water with a deeply contented sigh. It should be impossible after the "treatment" she just got but her body seems to become even more relaxed. After a soaking so thorough that her fingers and toes are prune-like, she puts on the fluffy robe that Eva has laid out for her and pads into her room with bare feet. It's almost a little too early to go to bed but it looks so inviting with its soft blankets that Elena crawls into it anyway. To her pleasant surprise her feet find the cozy warmth of a hot-water bottle under the covers, having already heated the bed up to her body temperature. Seconds later there's a knock on the door and after her silent invitation, Eva enters the room holding a little tray. When she puts a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of white bread with honey on the nightstand, Elena is certain that she hasn't been this mothered since the death of her parents. If she didn't feel so languorous and comfy, she'd probably burst into tears again. While she eats, Eva tells her little anecdotes about the Damon she knew, how he never stayed more than three days and how she tried to explain his existence to her neighbors.

"Did you love him?" Elena finally gathers her courage to ask her while she sips at the rest of her hot chocolate.

"I suppose so, yes", Eva's answer comes slowly. "Though he hardly showed me enough of him to truly be in love. You have to know somebody's worst side to be able to really love him. The Damon I knew preferred to always keep things cursory and loose, not only with me."

As the implication of that statement sinks in Elena feels something akin to indignation bubble up. "Weren't you jealous?"

"Not really, no", this time her answer comes faster. "He was never mine to be jealous of."

Then she abruptly stands up, seemingly getting an idea. "Wait a minute, I have something for you."

When she returns a moment later, she's carrying a battered looking envelope from which she extracts two black and white pictures. The first shows Damon and a younger looking Eva in what seems to be a bed. He is reclined against the headboard, his hair combed back in an impressive wave, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. His right arm is slung loosely over the pretty woman at his side who is leaning slightly forward, apparently holding the camera. She is smiling happily, the loose sheet exposing the tip of her naked breast. Damon is sporting his trademark smirk while his eyes show the strangely reflecting expression that Elena remembers from their early encounters. The second one is a single shot of Damon, possibly taken on the same morning or at least in the same bed since she recognizes the headboard in the background. His hair is now disheveled though, surrounding his face in unruly strands and the cigarette is missing from his mouth. This time he's staring directly in the camera, which means at her, with an intense, searching gaze that bears no trace of the caginess that was evident in the other shot. His shoulders and partly visible chest are naked which adds to the feeling that this is a very private and intimate picture somehow. One that makes him look almost vulnerable.

"You can keep it if you want to…", Eva's voice suddenly interrupts her musings and makes her wonder how long exactly she has already been staring at the picture.

"Thank you", Elena says deeply grateful because she really does want to hold onto that photograph. Even now it's hard for her to look away from it for picture-Damon seems to keep on looking at her, trying to tell her something or ask something that's very important.

A moment later, Eva tells her goodnight and leaves the room while she is still gazing at the picture until she finally turns the light off and snuggles deeper under the covers.

When she awakes in the morning she feels more rested and revived than she can remember being in months and she stretches languidly under the blankets before she gets up and packs her things. After she comes down they have an extensive breakfast during which Eva asks them more about their trip and Damon explains that he's planning to head for New Orleans next.

"It's more of a hunch really, but I believe Klaus is too much of a psychopath to miss out on a town that is filled with vampire legends. He's bound to at least show up there."

Eva wishes them luck and then stands up to accompany her guests to the door. As Damon packs their bags in the trunk, Eva presses a note in Elena's hand.

"If you ever need somebody to talk to, you can call me anytime. But don't worry, sweetheart, you'll be okay."

Elena pockets the note and hugs the old woman warmly goodbye, hoping to convey how much the last evening meant to her. By the look on Eva's face she seems to understand. She waits in the car while Damon is saying goodbye to his ex-lover and minutes later they zoom through the sunny streets of early morning Atlanta.

"You look good today," Damon comments, sounding strangely self-satisfied, after watching her out of the corner of his eyes for a while.

"I feel good too", she answers pensively. "Eva was absolutely great to me, she's a really nice woman.."

"That she is…" and now something in his content smile tips her off.

"Wait a minute, did you _plan_ any of this?" She turns to him with a demanding stare.

"What? Don't be silly now, Elena, how would I _plan_ _this_, whatever exactly happened ? Just because you've been crying for your mom lately or because you don't sleep well and it's apparently impossible for you to gain even so much as a pound? Don't get all loony on me now…"

Elena is barely able to suppress her laughter, she hasn't ever heard him lying this bad.

"Thank you anyway, for _not_ planning", she rests her hand on his forearm in gratitude and even though he doesn't say anything out loud, she can clearly hear his answering "_You're welcome_" in both their minds.

Around noon they stop at a diner to eat something, still enjoying the relaxed atmosphere between them. When the girl at the cash point asks them for some change, Damon has to decline so Elena rummages through her purse while Damon goes unnaturally still beside her. It doesn't faze her though until he suddenly grabs her wrist after they left the girl at her cash point.

"Elena, give me your purse for a second," his voice sounds a little breathless. She has a sinking feeling in her stomach but can't think of an even remotely convincing excuse so she meekly hands it over. He opens it hurriedly and there, tucked away securely between wads of old receipts, is Eva's picture. Only a bit of the edge is visible, but a bit is obviously enough because a second later Damon has it between his fingers, staring at it with an incredulous expression. Then, slowly, one of his breathtakingly real smiles, the ones that she just discovered recently, spreads over his face and he turns the picture slowly around to her.

"Oh my, Elena. I've warned you," he leans closer while pressing the photograph back into her hand with a surprisingly sensual touch. _"Game on!"_


	6. Chapter 6: Sultry Air

**A/N Wheew, that was quick, then again, it was very amusing to work on this chapter. Really, if you have just half as much fun reading this as I had writing it, I'll be absolutely happy! I hope it lives up to everyone's expectaions, I know that I have been thinking about how this scene (I'm trying not to give anything away here) could be done realistically on the show since Episode three or four.**

** _Special_ thanks this time to waltzmatildah who prevented me from completely messing up the ending! Enough with the talking, I hope you enjoy it and as usual, please drop me a line or two, that never fails to make me happy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Sultry Air<strong>

It has been two weeks. For two weeks now they have been staying in New Orleans which is currently suffering under the onslaught of a sultry heat wave. The overpowering smell of exotic flowers and rotting fruits has been just as constant, settling in her room during the night and ensuring that she feels as if her body temperature has been at least two degrees above normal since they arrived. For two weeks they've been looking for a trace of Klaus and Stefan who are, according to Damon and based on the occasional missing person, already in town. And for two weeks now, Damon has somehow managed to keep her in a constant, disturbing, semi aroused state that is simply refusing to go away. It started out innocently enough, so much so that she wasn't sure if he was really doing it on purpose or if it were just her over observant senses playing tricks on her. His voice seemed to be always half an octave lower, he appeared to leave even less space between them and somehow his shirts apparently had a lower neckline all of sudden. Most disturbing was his way of resting his free right hand almost obscenely close to his crotch while driving. She honestly couldn't remember if he'd always done that but now it certainly glued her eyes to body parts of him that she shouldn't think about, much less stare at.

So far, though, she had actually been handling the situation admirably in her opinion. That was until he decided to take his game up another notch. He started to touch her more often and in a way that made it impossible for her to call him out on it. When they were walking through a crowded street for instance, he started to steer her with a hand on the small of her back or at her elbow, barely with any pressure, so it somehow passed as a totally platonic gesture. Of course, that didn't prevent her from feeling his fingers burning through the thin cloth or on her skin. He also started to dress in his bedroom, instead of in the bathroom as before. Though they had a wonderfully large suite in the hotel, with a spacious bedroom for each of them , there was only one bathroom and it was located at the end of the corridor between them. Together with his new and very suspicious habit of discussing their upcoming plans for the day with her after his shower, it resulted in her being treated to the sight of his wet and naked torso, occasionally with him towel drying his dripping hair, on a regular basis. And during all of this he expected her, or more challenged her she sometimes feared, to answer his questions reasonably; it was outright ridiculous.

There was this one particular day, after he had made her watch True Blood with him ("It's a show about _vampires_, Elena. We have to watch it if only for educational reasons!"), which in itself had been uncomfortable enough, and kept on singing _Bad Things_ under his breath all day long. She had tried to call him out on that one but he kept telling her that he couldn't help it and did she never have a song stuck in her head that just wouldn't go away! So she had suffered through hours of him repeating _I wanna do bad things with you, real bad things with_ _you _in a voice like melting bitter chocolate.

The biggest change though was his different attitude towards women. It seemed like he had flicked on a light bulb inside of him that signaled "_I'm free_" to every single female in the vicinity. Until then he had mostly ignored them unless, naturally, he needed their help. Now however, he looked them in the eyes, smiled back, made a flirty comment now and then and apparently it was enough to make them all go wild. Elena's irritation, not jealousy, _certainly _not that, had been growing with every woman she caught checking him out and there seemed to be an endless supply of them. Frequently she even had to resist the impulse to grab his hand just to show all these women that they were fighting a lost cause. At that point, things were already beginning to worsen for her rapidly. To her embarrassment she had started to have dreams about him, as in _certain kinds of dreams_. Not that they were overly graphic but even the images of her burying her face in his hair, of pressing her nose in the crook of his arm in search of that smell, were so completely inappropriate that it made her cringe.

Two days after the _Bad Things_ incident, things took a turn for the outrageous as she woke in the middle of the night to muffled noise coming from Damon's bedroom. While still sleepy she thought she must have imagined it but then she heard a woman's voice moan for the second time and was certain. Yes, Damon had female company and he didn't exactly bother to keep it quiet either. At first she was furious: how dare he take home some _floozy_ with her just in the other room? Then she felt awkward, the way she did when she had overheard Alaric and Jenna a few months earlier and all she could think of was to find something to stuff her ears with. In the end, though it shamed her to admit as much, she had nearly stopped breathing in order to not miss a single sound. There was no nightly breeze to grant her comfort as she lay overheated on top of her bed covers, her mind incessantly conjuring up heady images to accompany the sounds that came from the other side of the hallway. The noises that the woman emitted irritated her for the most part, but in between she could occasionally hear Damon and every moan, every growling sound she caught from him made her shiver with unwanted and forbidden sensations.

The next day they had a stiff lunch at a nearby restaurant during which she rigorously ignored him to make clear that she completely disapproved of his nightly rendezvous. Unfortunately, Damon seemed amused with that at best and started flirting shamelessly with the waitress instead. She could feel her back teeth grind against each other in rage and frustration and she was actually relieved when he stood up to go god-knows-where. Five minutes passed; then ten. Finally she swallowed her pride and looked up to scan the place for a trace of him. After doing the rounds two times unsuccessfully she spotted some commotion in the hallway that led to the bathrooms. Before she even looked closer she knew that whatever it was wouldn't please her at all. Sure enough, the realization that it was Damon pressing their waitress up against the wall had something similar to bile rising up in her throat. She had tried not to think about the fact that it, sadly, had also forced her to cross her legs very tightly. His hands had been possessively cupping the woman's backside while his mouth devoured hers and she had her hands practically all over him. When the waitress had started moving her hips Elena had virtually felt her eyesight coloring red and to prevent herself from doing something stupid like storming up to them and yanking the woman's hair she had opted instead for bolting off to the hotel.

The fight that had ensued later on when he returned from his little make-out session had been one of their ugliest so far. Of course she couldn't confront him with what was really bothering her so she grasped at his lack of dedication to their actual mission, which was completely unfounded seeing as they spend every day searching for clues all over the city. Regrettably, Damon seemed to think so too because he was simply smirking at her, letting her vent until he'd suddenly had enough.

"Don't try to play us both for fools, Elena. That's so _not_ why you're angry with me"

"Oh yes, it is and I'm sick and tired of – " She didn't get any further as he seemed to lose his patience too.

"No, _Honey_," he lashed out acidly. "You're just getting hot and bothered, that's why."

Not even Elena knew where the feral cry that escaped her at that moment came from. All she knew was that she was so furious that every teenage tantrum she had ever thrown paled in comparison. She wanted to hurt Damon, to shake him up but there was no way she was going to touch him today so instead she grabbed at the first thing she laid eyes on, the water glass, then the second, her book, and before she knew it she was hurling everything at Damon that was loose and available around her. He, unbelievably, just stood there, laughing in honest amusement and either dodging or catching the numerous objects with cat like ease. When nothing else remained to smash him with she threw her head back in a last desperate attempt and outright spat at him. It didn't reach his intended target, naturally but it earned her a surprised look for a second. Then he took a step forward, made a terrifying sound between a growl and a moan and stared at her as if he was mere seconds from ripping the clothes off her body with his bare hands. That was the moment when she had turned on her heels abruptly and all but hightailed out of there.

She had gone for a long walk through the city, trying to get control again over her temper and only when it was getting dark did she return to the hotel, where she headed straight for her room, hoping that she wouldn't have to see him anymore that day. However, if she had thought that he would take it easy on her after their big fight, she clearly had been mistaken. Again she woke in the middle of the night to disturbing sounds coming from Damon's bedroom ,though this time around they seemed to be noticeably wilder. She had groaned in frustration, gripping the bed sheets in both hands while she tried to think of anything but what he might be doing to elicit these high pitched whimpers from his current bed partner. The whole situation was insane, she was acting as if she were some appetent teenage boy and not a mature young woman who had been in a steady, highly satisfying relationship until two months ago. Whenever she tried to remember now how wonderful sleeping with Stefan had always been, the picture of that slaughtered girl swam up to the surface of her conscience. And then her traitorous mind invariably drifted off to Damon dancing Tango, to kissing him, to him standing before her in nothing but a small, white towel, to Damon pressing that waitress up against the wall. Relieving herself was out of the question too, because then she would surely be fantasizing about the wrong vampire and only admitting that made her feel so dirty that there was no way she could go through with it. Unfortunately that resulted in her feeling oversensitive at all times, hell, it was beginning to be difficult to simply sit down without fidgeting. All of it was truly pathetic.

Yesterday finally, things had spun out of control. They had gone out for dinner again but since they were both still sulking it was a thoroughly unpleasant affair. When he excused himself after paying the bill and exchanging heated looks with a woman two tables to their right, Elena decided that she wouldn't stay to watch whatever he was planning to do with the woman and made a straight line for the exit. As usual, he was two steps ahead of her. She had just taken the first street corner when she spotted them, clearly visible under the yellow lamp light, pressed in the next house entrance. This time his face was nestled in the crook of her neck and for a second she was too shocked to even get mad. Not only was he apparently feeding on that woman, after she'd only ever seen him sipping on blood bags for weeks, no, he was also doing it on a public street where every passerby could easily see him. Just as she opened her mouth to really give him a mouthful she realized that the woman was rubbing against him like a cat in heat, her hands grabbing at his neck desperately. The sounds that were coming out of her mouth were strangely needy. But certainly, _certainly_, she couldn't be enjoying this, could she? Elena thought back to the times she had a vampire's teeth in her throat and yes, she was still sure that it hurt like hell every time. Not so much with Klaus, maybe, then it had only been disgusting. A little less with Damon too, but certainly in no way enjoyable. As if to contradict her, the woman chose this exact moment to lift her leg and hook it around Damon's hip like she couldn't possibly get close enough to the man who was currently piercing her throat. Even through her confusion Elena could feel herself getting noticeably hotter, unable to help it when she heard the woman suddenly letting out a thin, keening wail, starting to shake uncontrollably and causing Damon to brace an arm against the wall behind them to keep them both upright. It was impossible to watch even a second longer and she scurried by them, hoping that they might be to engrossed to hear her. When she couldn't keep herself from throwing a quick sideways glance however, she found Damon's bloodshot eyes focused on her. It was a clear sign of how wound up she already was that rather than repulse her it had only served to coil the burning tangle in her lower body even tighter. He was still holding her gaze when his tongue flicked out to lick blood from his canine, causing her to gulp heavily before she turned away dazed and kept on walking unsteadily.

When she had closed the door to her room behind her, the satisfied sounds of the woman were still ringing in her ears, making sure to keep her questions in the front of her conscience. She could have asked Caroline of course, who _had_ been in some kind of relationship with Damon after all. But then she would have had to explain why she was asking only now and she couldn't bring herself to do that. Suddenly she had remembered the slip of paper that Eva had given her two weeks ago. After digging through all the jeans that she wasn't wearing anymore because of the heat, she found it, a little crumpled and damp but the number was still readable. Whilst dialing, she had tried to calm down by taking deep, slow breaths and when Eva answered the phone Elena was glad to find that her voice nearly sounded normal. She had then dutifully delivered a minimal amount of small talk before she delved into what was bothering her.

"When you were with Damon, did he ever, you know, bite you?" Elena had felt a little stupid asking, but thankfully Eva took her seriously.

"Yes, he did, on occasion."

"Do you remember how it felt? Did it hurt?"

Eva had considered her answer for a moment. "I think that depended on what he wanted me to feel. Sometimes, when he hurt, he could be a little rough and hasty with me too. But most of the time he was determined to make me enjoy it as well, and then it was incredibly …._satisfying_, I think is the right word. But Elena, Sweetheart, shouldn't you know that? You told me you've been with Stefan for over a year."

"I was, yes," she had to clear her throat then. "But he didn't drink human blood in the beginning and later, when he wanted to control it, he always took just a little, from my finger."

"Oh," Eva's surprise had been palpable even over the phone. "What a pity, to keep up with all these vampire troubles and not even get rewarded for it." Sadly, Elena hadn't felt like joining in her good-natured laughter. "So why are you asking me about it now?"

She had described what she'd been seeing earlier and how the woman's obvious enjoyment had confused her.

"Oh," had been Eva's reaction for the second time. "He let you catch him feeding? Oh my, he sure is getting out the heavy ammunition, isn't he?"

"Yeah, you could say that," and just like that the needy undertone was back in Elena's voice.

"It's still your choice, Elena," Eva assured her but by then she had already started to seriously doubt if that choice still existed.

After hanging up she had stepped out onto the little balcony overseeing the lively street, crammed with party goers and late night strollers. How was it possible, she had wondered mutely, to be that long in a relationship with a vampire and not know that his bite might have been wonderful for her. Hell, even that damned TV show that Damon had made her watch seemed to be on to it! It seemed pretty clear why Stefan hadn't told her, after all, it had been unlikely that he could gather enough self control for that. Now, even the thought of him biting her, with the very same teeth that tore into that little girl, made her feel nauseous. For a moment she felt a little cheated for being unable to experience this with him because of his lacking self control. The image of Damon, pleasing that woman on the street, slipped before her mind's eye and she realized that that's exactly what he'd been telling her. _Look here, Elena, this woman coming undone under my bite, that is something that no one else will ever be able to give to you. _This night, for the first time, her dreams had been more graphic, bombarding her with a hazy whirlwind of images of Damon feeding on pliable, whimpering women, feeding on _he_r.

Now it's morning, part of her conscience is still replaying her dreams while she goes through the routine of showering, teeth brushing and hair combing. Back in her room, rummaging through her clothes she realizes that there isn't one set of clean underwear left, she had given them all to the laundry yesterday. No set left except for the one that she'd been avoiding so determinedly. As if it isn't enough that Damon gets under her skin all of the time, it looks like now she also has to wear underwear that is, in some sick, twisted sense _his._ Succumbing to the inevitable she puts it on, hating suddenly how good it looks on her. They had decided to take a day off from searching, it's not like they had been very successful so far, and maybe go somewhere, but now she doesn't feel up to another whole day in Damon's company. When he comes to interrogate her she tells him that she's tired and plans to stay in, maybe brainstorm again what they could be doing regarding the Stefan situation. He's looking at her strangely, as if he wants to catch her during a lie, before he informs her that she's free to do that but he's planning to have fun today and see you later.

Elena spends the day on her bed, ordering room service, making feeble attempts to think up solutions for their mission and making even more feeble attempts to not let her thoughts stray to Damon again. She feels as if in a dead end street, knowing that if she's not going to do something about these _tingles_, as she's now naming them in order to trivialize the whole thing, her body will most likely do something on its own. She remembers a far removed aunt of hers, the black sheep in the family, with hair dyed the color of a fire brigade truck and a myriad of bangles adorning her arms that jingled with every movement. Auntie Aisha used to take thirteen year old Elena aside, provide her with dirty jokes, ask her if she had a boyfriend and tell her of her conviction that sex was just as basic a bodily need as food, air and sleep. Later she would always giggle and tell her parents about it who would in turn assure her that this was just Auntie Aisha's point of view. Right now, however, she thinks that her Auntie may have been on to something, the way her body is acting as if on withdrawal. There's no need to contemplate the possibility that it might be simply Damon that it's craving.

When it's finally getting dark outside, she can hear the noise down on the boulevard increasing, reminding her that there's some kind of street festival going on tonight. Minutes later Damon is knocking on her door, asking her if she wants to go down and watch the bands playing, assuring her that she's been assiduous enough today to be able to legitimately have some fun. After having a whole day to herself, she feels collected enough to agree to his proposition and they make their way downstairs, mingling with the excited, noisy crowd. Five hundred yards down the street they come across a small band, playing Latin rhythms while a few couples dance in front of them. Elena knows what's coming now before he even opens his mouth.

"You wanna dance?" In his eyes is a little of the desperation she's been feeling herself for two weeks now.

"Damon, no," after all, it would be so incredibly stupid to agree the way she feels around him at the moment. "I don't even know the steps..," she has the courtesy of providing them both with a good enough excuse.

Damon, of course, ignores that and persists. "I can show you, they're not hard."

"_Damon…"_

"And no inappropriate touching, I promise." As usual he senses the root of her worries and effectively causes her determination to falter. After all, she _likes_ to dance and right now she feels in control of her body and what harm could it really do? _A LOT, it could harm you a lot_, yells the annoying little voice in her mind but she ignores it. Damon has already taken her hand, guiding her forward and showing her the admittedly rather simple steps: one to the side, one back, then forward again, to the side, one forward then back again – and repeat.

"What dance is this, anyway?" Elena asks when she feels sure enough on her feet.

His smirk causes her to miss a step. "What do you think? Rumba, of course. And you're doing really well except for your hips. They're leading you in this dance, you know, the rest of your body should just follow everything that your hips do. May I ?"

When he holds his hands towards her hips, clearly giving her a choice, she can't blame anyone besides herself for granting him the permission to touch her by mutely nodding. The moment his warm hands cover both sides of her pelvis she can feel herself going soft under them like jelly. Then he starts to move them in time to the music, swaying them back and forth, up and down in a rolling motion that has her body center slipping downwards until the glowing spot of her hips is dominating her, dragging arms and legs in its wake. She can feel herself getting heavy, _so _heavy under the pressure of his hands, her eyelids dropping and her movements slowing down until her slightly sweaty thighs are grinding against each other. He spins her out, brings her back again and it is impossible to know which one of them made the tiny step that brought them closer together. His raspy breath is ghosting over her temple and right in front of her eyes is the shiny, alluring triangle of skin that his shirt exposes. Inside of her, her mind is slowly losing the battle to her body, which is urging her on, demanding that it finally get its will. There is a deep intake of breath, the feel of his body against hers almost already real when suddenly heavy droplets of water are hitting the naked skin of her shoulders. It effectively shakes her from the daze she's in and when she looks up to find Damon this close to her she reacts the only way she knows how to: she storms off.

The three minutes it takes her to race back to their hotel are enough to completely soak her and when she's finally in the safe space of her room she gets rid of the soaking top and shorts. As she reaches up to pull her hair tie off, she suddenly knows, by the unnatural quietness behind her, that he's standing in her doorway, looking unwavering at her in her soaked through, sinful underwear. _Why hadn't she closed the door completely?_ She can't be sure of it, of anything anymore. Elena's not turning around though, just lets her arms sink down and with them falls the wet mass of her hair, sinking coolly down on her shoulders. At her back is a sudden, short gust of wind, telling her that he's directly behind her now, the heat radiating off him almost like a touch on her skin. Heat and cold are fighting against each other in her body, it's as if this week long madness has confused it and it doesn't know how to react anymore. Outside her opened balcony doors, the warm summer rain is pouring down with an ear numbing rush, effectively ending the long heat period.

"You have to give in to me, Elena. You just have to." His croaky whisper stirs the hair at the nape of her neck.

As words seem to have failed her, she utters a strange, strangled whimper that is supposed to sound like no but is unnervingly reminiscent of a yes.

Suddenly both of his hands are ghosting over her shoulders with a carful, caressing touch, his voice positively pleading with her now.

"_Surrender! Now!"_

And finally, she slowly, shivering turns around to him and does just that.


	7. Chapter 7: Sinner's Downfall

**A/N Ahhhh, I'm so sorry for the long wait, especially because so many of you seemed to find the ending of the last chapter so torturing. All I can say to my defense is that I had quite a lot on my plate lately (Moving, university etc.), but again, please forgive me. Sadly, I don't even have epic smut to console you all, I'm honestly to shy to write that and I couldn't really picture it in my story...so, my apologies for everyone who was waiting for some steamy scenes! On the upside, there is actually something similar to PLOT going on in this chapter! Yeah, I know, I'm surprised too... As usual, thanks to my wonderful beta waltzmathilda and please let me know what you thought after reading!  
><strong>

Sinner's Downfall

Waking in the morning feels like swimming reluctantly through cool water and upwards towards an overly bright surface. The first thing she notices before she opens her eyes is the warm buzz that fills her whole body, as if she just came out after a long hot bath or hours of soaking in the summer sun. Then she becomes aware of a constant whoosh that is apparently the rain, still pouring down on New Orleans. And her whole right side is warmed by something that is definitely neither her bed nor – something she can identify at the moment. Her lashes are a little sticky as she slowly opens her eyes now. Through her still opened balcony door the outside world looks blurry because of the dense grey rain curtain and there's also much less traffic noise than she's come to expect in the mornings. The tiles in front of the balcony doors are wet with run in rain water, pooling around a toppled over black boot. Her room is also much shadier without the harsh sun rays and as she slowly turns her head she can see her sundress, stirred slightly by the cool breeze, hanging over the post at the foot of the bed. Right next to it is a naked foot, sticking out of the white sheet, and though her legs are long, they're not that long: this foot can't possibly belong to her.

And _oh God_, the realization of last night is suddenly bubbling up inside of her, sending her until then relaxed innards into turmoil.

The warmth suddenly explains itself as Damon's leg, pressing against hers, Damon's hand, resting on her belly and Damon's breath stroking over her naked shoulder. Already she can feel the first signs of hyperventilation starting so she carefully attempts to slip out from under him, amazing herself when she succeeds and Damon only mutters a small, sleepy sound of displeasure. In the hard, unapologetic reality of the bathroom, where she flees on her tiptoes, Elena focuses on the white, angular tiles and willfully forces herself to think about what they've done. Her memory of last night is crystal clear and strangely blurred at the same time. Pictures of it are flashing through her mind with blinding intensity, already burned on her retinas for the rest of her life, but the order is somehow messed up, as if she was there but looking through a small window of focus, somehow missing how these hours fit in with the rest of her life, fit into the world she knows. There are snapshots of Damon's tousled mass of black hair between her quivering thighs, of his hands, stroking greedily over every inch of her body, of seeing him truly naked for the first time, standing there almost vulnerable and letting her look her fill. The wondrous noises that kept spilling forth from his lips as layer after layer, his walls came tumbling down. She keeps remembering his eyes so very clearly, looking at her with unwavering awe and solemnity, his concentration sharpening every line of his face. His voice is still echoing in her ears, urging her to look at him, to not close her eyes, making sure that she didn't let her consciousness slip away, maybe flee before her own actions. Instead he created a connection between their wide, astonished eyes that was somehow more intimate then everything else they'd been doing this night. Her heart clenches at the memory and she slowly slides down to the floor, the tiles a cool pressure against her naked back

Slowly, very slowly, she wills the pictures in her head to come to a hesitant stand still until she can feel a dull, rhythmic throbbing at the back of her skull, somehow pulsing to the beat of a name that has been far too rare on her mind these past weeks.

_Stefan. Stefan. Stefan. Stefan. Stefan. __Stefan. Stefan._

It's starting to make her feel a little sick, the guilt that is suddenly attached to that name slowly seeping down into her every fiber with a strange kind of palpable bitterness. A wild thought flies through her mind; that this is how she will feel from now on when she hears the name of the first boy she truly loved, loves still. A bitterness on her tongue, like biting unexpectedly on the seeds of grapes, like jumping down too forcefully, sending up a sharp pain through her bones. She's sure that the extent of this guilt is only rivaled by the one she felt weighing down on her after Wickery Bridge. Although at that time it had been, as Jenna had kept telling her, the guilt of the survivor (Elena preferred "the guilt of the causer") the what ifs and should haves. This time she had invited the guilt with open, steady arms, knowing the outcome and doing it anyway. In some ways that makes it better, much worse in so many other ways. It's worse still, and pretty low, admitting to herself, that given the chance to turn the time back to yesterday evening, she would probably make the same decision all over again. And how could she not when Damon's hands seemed to know her body better than her own, finding pleasure points she didn't even know existed. When having him move inside of her felt so much like coming home?

Still, what she feels now is more intense than having her first cigarette, her first hangover, the first successful lie she told her parents, her first time driving a car alone, the loss of her virginity, and experiencing all of it on only one day. Now she is tarnished in a way, with her first taste of adult guilt, no longer the innocent, pure girl that was captivated by the mysterious brooding new boy.

Here she is, cowering naked on white tiles like a mentally ill character in a bad documentary, while she's accepting the harsh truth. She's no longer the same girl that Stefan fell in love with and she can never go back. Is not even sure that she'd want to.

Shattered by the weight of all these heavy thoughts, she slowly pushes herself up and pads exhaustedly back to her room which is still subdued by the lack of sun light. Damon is still sleeping, sprawled out on her bed, half on his side, half on his stomach, the white sheets more under than over him. She's probably thought this a hundred times when it comes to him but as she creeps forward, she is sure that she's never seen anything more beautiful than the long, naked, graceful line of his shoulder, back, hip, butt and leg, outlined by the bit of light that there is on this rainy morning. Carefully, so as to not disturb him, she lays down on the mattress, facing his sleeping form. Amidst all her guilty feelings at the moment, the thought that she can touch him from now on if she wants to, that the long painful period of holding back is over, makes her feel lightheaded and almost happy. With minimal pressure she lets her fingertips graze over his skin and the sight of her olive skin on the light, creamy color of his arm is so perfect that it makes her heart grow wide in her chest, beating so forcefully that breathing becomes a tight, wonderful pain.

She must have made a sound because now his eyes are open, fixed on her with an expression that takes her a few seconds to recognize, since she's never seen him wear it before. He is terrified, truly terrified of what she might do now, that she'll pretend nothing happened, that she'll allow her guilt to spoil what they had. Somehow she manages to give him a shaky half smile, slips her hand to his back, resting there on the tense muscles while she watches the fear slowly seep out of his eyes. Damon's not smiling back at her, just giving her a look that reminds her of last night and under the memory, tears start to leak out of her eyes. Not hysterical tears, these are silent, hot and bitter, spilled over something that can't be changed anymore. He's not crying with her either, but there's a blazing fierceness in his eyes that she takes comfort in, as she gains strength from his hand that he slips around the back of her neck, repeating the gesture that calmed her so strangely three weeks ago. He doesn't ask why she's crying, doesn't have to, as they're lying there naked, facing each other in the dim light of their aftermath.

She betrayed her boyfriend. He betrayed his brother.

They share this guilt, they're in this together.

When they finally gather enough energy to stand up, the heavy cover of clouds has somehow cleared a little and such things as food, or blood, start to matter again. Apparently you can experience a shattering loss of innocence, maybe grow up rather painfully over the course of one night and your body will still claim its right to remain healthy and alive. While they go about getting dressed and cleaning up, the change in their behavior is gradually becoming obvious, unconscious as they are of it in the beginning. It's as if now that they have allowed themselves to close the gap between them, they can't stop touching each other. Almost as if they fear that this new familiarity will reveal itself as an illusion if they're not constantly assuring each other with the touch of skin on skin. His hand resting on her hip as she brushes her teeth, her head burrowed between his shoulder blades while he shaves.

Elena can't quite wrap her head around how she can feel so utterly blue and so completely happy at the same time.

She wonders for a fleeting second if they should talk about last night, you know, the usual _what did it mean to you _and _where are we standing now_. But to be honest, talking about serious stuff was never on the long list of things that came naturally to the both of them and so she lets it go. After all, Damon has always been more a man of action and Elena doesn't really feel like poking around in the aching part of her heart right now either.

They find a nice café a few streets south from the hotel where they order a late breakfast of fruits and French, buttery pastries and Elena just barely refrains from taking a seat on his lap. Instead he circles her wrist with two fingers while their legs tangle under the small table. It's almost funny how little they talk with each other on the most complicated, confusing morning of Elena's young life. But what is there to say, really? _This was the most wonderful night of my life? I can't believe I had it in me to betray Stefan like that? I fear I might love you so much that it's dangerous?_ She can't really say any of these things but she suspects he knows them anyway, the way he never loses his hold on her wrist. Besides, the way his eyes are practically feasting on her, glowing with an inner happiness that she had yet to discover, is starting to do funny things to her insides.

"Ready to go?", he finally asks her after an hour, throwing some bills on the table when she quietly nods.

On the way to the hotel, she lets him pull her close to his side, her own finger hooked into his belt loop, trying to ignore how naturally this position comes to them, as if their bodies knew how best to fit against each other on their own. Her anticipation is gradually rising, the closer they get to their street, an almost unnoticeable uptake in the pace of their steps. In the elevator she can feel his fingertips tremble on her arm. Part of her knows that she shouldn't do this, not again, because _Stefan, Stefan, Stefan_, but there is Damon, pressing her back against the closed door of their suite and suddenly she can't stand the sight of his clothes anymore. Buttons jump under her aggressive fingers and she can feel her surroundings becoming blurred again until all she sees are his flickering eyes, his hands flying over her sides and their hard breaths drown out every other noise. It's possible that she's never been this intoxicated.

Only later, when they both are dressed again, Damon notices the note on the chest of drawers. Someone from the hotel must have brought it up while they were out. Just a single page of cream colored, expensive looking paper, folded once in the middle and with their names written on it in bold, cursive, black ink. _Damon & Elena_, it almost looks like a wedding invitation she thinks disgustedly. Inside it are just two sentences in the same handwriting.

_My Dears, your little vampire is starting to annoy me. You may pick him up this evening, 9 p.m. at the Lafayette Cemetery._

It is so ridiculous and anticlimactic that they both snort for a second before staring dumbly at the message for another ten.

"He can't be serious, can he?", Elena finally manages to ask. "This must be some kind of trap, right?" she turns the note around in the hope of finding an explanation while Damon fixes it as if he were trying to set it on fire with the pure venom of his stare.

"Actually, I don't think it's a trap", he then offers in a voice pressed with rage. "He knew we were following him, he could have gotten to us a long time ago if he'd wanted to. No, my guess is that he's really just a fucking asshole and what kind of dumb bullshit is that with the Lafayette graveyard? Badass vampire can't think of a better meeting point than a haunted cemetery?" He's quiet for two quivering seconds before he continues in a more controlled tone. "We probably should show up anyway, right?" Elena nods tentatively. "And just in case this is a trap, I should probably head out and look for a blood bank, just to be safe, ok?"

Elena nods again in agreement, not sure how she feels about the fact that he's apparently restricting himself to blood bags again. "Be safe", she mutters and for a moment it looks like Damon's going to kiss her, but then he just swallows awkwardly and closes the door behind him. Elena is left staring blankly at the paper, her heart thrumming in her chest like a jackhammer. Hope that they will have Stefan back by the end of the evening is incautiously bubbling up inside her but she does her best to suppress it in case Klaus is only trying to mislead them. A fair amount of fear is mingled in it as well, evoked by these police pictures that she simply can't forget. Last year, during Stefan's short relapse, something in his eyes had scared her at times and the memory of when they found him with Amber in the woods, blood dripping all over his chin, still has the power to repulse her. It hadn't taken much effort back then to suppress these feelings, busy as she was to nurse him back to his normal self. Now, however, she's not sure that it will be as easy, he is so much deeper in this time around. In addition to this fear, she also feels anger and that certain pure hatred that she has reserved for Klaus alone, for the creature that broke into her life and started playing with the people she loves as if they were mere toys. And if there's a tiny, venomous part of her that is disappointed because she has no chance now to figure out in her own time what exactly this thing with her and Damon is, then she's not going to think about it.

Damon returns an hour later, looking like a commercial for healthy vegetable juice, his pockets stuffed to the rim with blood bags on which he begins to slurp as soon as he closes the door. Elena suggests that they should pack their things seeing as there are only two possible outcomes to this evening, bringing Stefan back to Mystic Falls or attempting a flight from whichever scenario Klaus has in store for them, and both will see them on the road, leaving New Orleans behind. She buries the red lingerie set at the bottom of her bag, piling the clean underwear on top of it with nervous fingers and rapidly blinking eyes. When she starts to make the bed, because yes, she'd feel bad to leave a messy room behind even in a hotel, there is the insane idea in her head that she should strip her pillow of its case and stuff the keepsake of Damon's presence in another far corner of her luggage. But she chastises herself just in time, even goes so far as to gather his discarded clothes and bring them over to his room. She even includes his crinkled black shirt. When she's finished she takes a minute to lay down on the bed, sprawled out on the sheets, her nose buried in it while she allows herself to relive the night one last time before she determinedly closes her mind to the memories and gets over to Damon's room to see if he's ready. He is, looking as grim as she feels as he provides her with various vervain darts, puts one stake inside of his own jacket and then wordlessly points towards the door. She hasn't completed her third step when his hand on her wrist stops her.

"Elena", he pleads, confusion written all over his face. "Can you please tell me what we're –"

But she just can't do this now, cannot explain what happens to them if they really get Stefan back so she stops him with a short, apologetic _Not now, Damon, please, I can't do this right now._

The bitter disappointment on his face is hard to bear. "One last kiss?", he asks, his half-sided smirk cutting something deep and painful inside of her. Instead of a response she simply slips her hand in the strands at the back of his head and tugs. It's a harsh kiss, a little bitter, a little salty and after they break apart there is a measured space between them once again. The door to the fragrant, dark room of their misdoings closes softly behind them.

They park at the entrance on Prytania Street where Damon unceremoniously lifts her up and jumps quickly over the closed gate. It's a quiet neighborhood, especially at this hour and they are greeted with an almost deadly stillness inside of the walls, interrupted only by the occasional bird cry and rushing car in the distance. The darkness between the tall graves is more enveloping due to the lack of street lights and Damon leads them forward very slowly, acknowledging Elena's imperfect eyesight. It gets darker still as they're heading further into the graveyard, both of them straining their ears to catch some noise. Of course, Damon's the first one to stop in his tracks, silently tilting his head to the smaller path on their right, on which she follows him with mounting anxiety, her sweaty palm gripping tightly onto the dart in her pocket. After about 100 yards, Elena's able to make out a crouching, slightly moving form on the path in front of them and another 50 yards later she's able to hear silent, disturbing slurping noises. That's when Damon wordlessly stops her by moving in front of her. Over his shoulder though, she's still able to recognize the dark form as her boyfriend, practically chewing on a motionless, middle aged woman in his arms. Involuntarily, she takes a step forward even while her tongue is coiling backwards with nausea. But this is what she knows, what she always does, taking steps towards Stefan, never mind the consequences. Though her instincts seem to have weakened because she lets herself be stopped almost willingly by nothing more than Damon's outstretched arm.

"Stefan", Damon now mutters in a voice as if he were trying to soothe a nervous horse, all outstretched hands and slow movements. "It's me, Damon. We're here to take you home, ok?"

Unfortunately, all that this does is alert him to their presence and he slowly begins to stalk in their direction, his head lowered, blood dripping down his chin and tainting the front of his shirt pitch black in the low light. Elena's not even sure that he really recognizes them, the way he now menacingly starts to growl, his lips pulled back over dripping canines. Just as she starts to be afraid that they'll probably have to seriously injure Stefan to prevent him from hurting them, an arrogant, slightly amused voice barges in from somewhere behind the woman who is still lying where Stefan dropped her a moment ago.

"Now really, Stefan. Is that any way to greet your brother and your girlfriend, who came all the way down here just to save you from your sorry self?" The voice alone seems to be enough to shake Stefan out of his daze as he stops dead and his eyes flick back and forth in confusion. Klaus is leaning against a tall, blackened tomb behind him, arms crossed, one foot cocked, the perfectly detached bystander, complete with cruel dimples carved in his cheeks. She has never hated anyone more in her whole life, it feels like something sharp and acid is flowing through her veins and although they're not touching she can feel Damon tensing up at her side.

"You see, Stefan", Klaus continues, his upper body now leaned forward in cruel expectation. "These two just came here to save you. The two people that you love most in the world, am I correct? Though it seems as if they love each other even more now, don't you, my dears?"

Suddenly it gets very quiet on the path, Elena and Damon staring at the Original in disbelief while Stefan's eyes now focus on them with complete bewilderment. Finally he opens his mouth for the first time this evening and his voice sounds thick and unused.

"I don't understand – what does he mean you love each other more?", his sad, puzzled puppy eyes a stark contrast to his blood drenched body.

Klaus takes a step forward, chuckling to himself. "Well, to her defense, Elena put up quite a fight, I was actually starting to get impatient. But in the end, who can resist the older, wicked brother with the sinful dancing skills, am I right, Sweetheart?" His smile is making her sick, literally, she can feel her stomach churn up and her face grow cold. The thought that he was watching them the whole time, anticipating her reaction when she was so desperately trying to keep her unwanted feelings locked up – it's enough to make her fully lose sight of her self-preservation instinct.

"_You swine_", she hisses, finally fighting against Damon's arm who is still holding her back while he's openly snarling at Klaus now. "_You make me sick! Just because you care about nobody besidse yourself you can't stand other people's happiness! I bet even your own mother must want you to rot in hell!"_

Suddenly there's an angry glint in Klaus' eyes "Careful now, little girl, you wouldn't want me to get mad at you again, would you? What is it with you modern, mediation trained people? Did you really expect me to just let you kill my witch, disturb the whole sacrifice, free Katerina and then actually be so kind as to save the exact vampire who caused me all this trouble for the pathetic price of his brother's commitment to me? For having such a depressing example of a vampire at my tail? By God girl, you must be insane! You can call yourself lucky that you got off as easy as that."

"_Got off easy?",_ she's positively screeching now, spit flying from her tongue as she madly fights against Damon's hold on her. He is yelling something as well but she's too distracted to pay attention to his words. "_You destroyed him! You destroyed everything!"_

"Which was most certainly my intention", Klaus modestly lowers his head as if accepting his due praise. "But at least you get to live, Elena, isn't that just wonderful?"

It's probably only because he's pointing at Stefan now that she and Damon don't lunge for him in their boiling rage. But there is her boyfriend, if she can still call him that, looking about him horror stricken and with disbelief, his bloodied hands twitching nervously at his sides.

"You'd better calm that stray lambkin, I'm here by retiring from my role as babysitter." He's buttoning his jacket now, already taking jovial steps backwards. "What a pity that I won't be around to see how he takes his girlfriends adultery – and with his brother even!" He takes a minute to mock consider their unspeakable evilness. "That is, when, _or if_, he recovers from this pitiful state of his" He throws one last disgusted glance at Stefan's shaking form before he abruptly turns on his heels and disappears in the dark alleyway between two tombs. The three of them are left standing there in the darkness between New Orleans' haunted graves, their own ghosts so much more destructive than anything the tombs could offer.

In the end, they still have to sedate him with all the vervain they brought with them, after he starts attacking them under the seeming influence of such a complete confusion that Elena begins to cry. Damon bonds him full bodily with chains and lays him down in the trunk, arguing that it would be too risky to have him on the backseat. After two hours of driving through night-time Louisiana, Stefan starts to grunt painfully, sometimes yelling, from the back of the car. Elena feels as if her skin has become paper thin since last night, his distressed noises seem to echo directly through her over sensitive nerve cells. It shames her a little how she immediately starts to cry again but even Damon's hand is a little unsteady when it resumes his soothing pressure at the back of her neck.

"What on earth are we going to do, Damon?" she whispers, trying to keep their conversation a secret from Stefan while the salty liquid seeps onto her tongue through the corners of her mouth.

His voice would seem detached to everyone else, but she knows the desperate angle of his jaw, plus she can still feel his trembling hand on her skin. "If we get lucky he won't remember anything of this evening too clearly. We might be able to convince him that he just misunderstood Klaus."

"Oh please, we have to try that! Please Damon, he can't know about us, at least not until he's much better!"

His eyes fix on her for a second, the hurt in them abashing her for her low expectations of him on this matter.

"What the hell, Elena, he's my brother! I don't want to put him through that any more than you do!"

His eyes return to the dark road, bitterness now pulling his brows together.

"I know that he can't know about us, don't worry. I know, really. Nobody can."


	8. Chapter 8: On Tiptoes

**A/N Okay, um, so you remember how I said it wouldn't take so long for me to update again? Yeah, that was before a lovely virus made himself at home in my pc, didn't let me work for the best part of a week and used that time to destroy everything I already had so far...:( that is the truth and nothing but the truth that sucks! **

**On top of that, I'm not overly happy with this chapter. Let's just hope that you guys like it better and if not, I understand completely! **

**I'm planning one or two chapters after this one, just thought I let you all know!**

**Some of you seemed to feel that the M-rating of my story is not deserved because I don't want to write full on smut. As you may know, this is my first story so I'm absolutely not familiar with the whole rating system. It seems I was under the wrong impression that using strong language alone would require a high rating. I'd be super grateful If one of you could clarify that for me!**

**And lastly, I wish you all a very pleasant next thursday, or friday (depending on your location) ;)**

**On Tiptoes**

It takes Elena all of ten minutes after their arrival to realize she is once again the keeper of a secret that she can't share with anyone. She and Damon had agreed, rather bitterly on his side, that they would pretend as if nothing had happened until they had Stefan nursed back to his normal self. So when Bonnie and Caroline are waiting for them at the Boarding House, showering her with hugs and kisses when she gets out of the car, Elena finds herself answering with something akin to a lie when they ask her how she is. _Tired_, she tells them, but also thrilled that they got Stefan back and a little worried about how long it will take him to recover. Then there is a pause where she very explicitly leaves out how much really happened, how profoundly changed she feels and Bonnie and Caroline just smile and nod, their arms slung around her, not realizing that she's no longer the Elena they know. It does something funny to her throat, the realization that she has distanced herself from these two girls and their allegedly unconditional love and understanding for each other. Thankfully, almost as if on purpose, Damon choses this moment to interrupt their reunion.

"Hey Blondie", his irritated voice reaches them from the direction of the trunk, while the grunting and thrashing noises let them know that Stefan is at least partly conscious and not exactly in a cooperative mood. "Care to give me a hand over here?"

Caroline rolls her eyes and lets out an exaggerated sigh but flashes over to him anyway while Damon meets Elena's eyes for a bitter second before instantly looking away. It makes her realize that this in fact worse than the other time she kept a secret from everyone that mattered to her, the time when she had just found out about Stefan's true nature. After Jenna was finally let in on everyone's supernatural involvements, she had felt so relieved that she didn't have to lie anymore to someone close to her. And now this time she's not even able to talk to Damon, her conniver and confident in crime.

After they have Stefan safely locked and vervain-injected in the cellar, all of them, including Jeremy and Alaric, come together in the parlor to discuss the situation. It could be just another crisis talk for them if it weren't for Stefan's significant absence from their midst. Also, though Elena is not sure if anyone else notices, she and Damon have chosen the two chairs farthest away from each other. As soon as Damon finishes his somewhat cut version of how they found Stefan, Jeremy inquires in a heated voice if they shouldn't go after Klaus, make sure to finish him off once and for all before he starts on some new evil plan, launching a hybrid army or something similar.

"No way, Jeremy!" Elena exclaims loudly without letting him finish. "I won't have anyone of you risking your lives again! Besides, we don't have any idea how to kill him now that he's a hybrid and Stefan is not even recovered and no – just no! I won't let you!"

Jeremy seems to chew on an answer that clarifies she's no longer in a position to forbid him anything but something about the shrill undertone in her voice makes him hold back. There are also Damon's eyes, focused on him with a clear threat. The guy did kill him once, after all.

They agree to focus on Stefan's recovery for the time being, deciding to not feed him anything, not even animal blood until he's much better and that nobody human, which basically means Elena, should go downstairs without the company of another vampire.

"How bad is he?" Alaric's voice sounds a little subdued, his worried eyes on Elena for whom he has started to feel strangely responsible since Jenna's death.

"Well", Damon tries very hard for his usual chipper tone. "Let's just say that he confused us with something edible and now prefers growling as his way of communicating." Then his gaze drifts fleetingly over Elena and he continues almost seamlessly. "He'll get better though, it's just a matter of time."

They try to talk to him afterwards, all of them, Damon standing at Elena's side as she grips the bars of the cell door while they attempt to explain the situation to him. Although he manages to leave out most of Klaus' goodbye speech. Elena can practically see the wheels turning in Stefan's blood dazed mind as he tries to fit their words with the apparently cloudy fragments that he himself remembers, his eyes flicking rapidly between the two of them like a panicked animal. The moment it get's too much for him comes like a visible crack in his eyes as he suddenly lunches forward, teeth flashing and trying to snap at her hands through the little window. Damon's in front of her in an instant, pushing her back while trying to calm his brother down rather fruitlessly, calling out to him in his rare soothing voice over the unsettling guttural noises that come out of Stefan's throat. Meanwhile, Elena is leaning against the cold stone wall, still shivering out of shock, Caroline's arm squeezing her reassuringly and she wonders how many times more Stefan will scare her like that before she'll be unable to ever look at him again and feel completely safe.

After that, Damon never accompanies her when she goes downstairs, it's always Caroline who watches out for her safety, hovering protectively in the background. Elena stands there for hours, watching his silently rejecting back as he gets increasingly weaker with the lack of blood, and tries to talk to him, to coax out something of the Stefan she knows. Just a glimpse, something that will tell her he's still in there somewhere and needs her to simply dig him out again. Instead he refuses to even look at her, never mind talk to her. It makes her feel like a moron. A very sad, naïve, pitiful moron.

Sometimes she wonders if she would bear it better if she could just talk to Damon, get some of his pragmatic, nonchalant but, nevertheless, slightly optimistic comments to put things into perspective. But they never talk these days, careful to avoid looking too close now, as if they fear that one accidental touch, one intimate word, might be enough to unravel their secret in front of all the others. As if on instinct they never sit on the same couch anymore when a meeting with the whole group is on and when she wants to tell him something she leaves notes, rather than calling. Increasingly she feels it whenever Damon's looking at her too long, stands to close or says something to her with that sweet, tender undertone that is far too intimate for a boyfriend's brother, carrying with it memories of a night she tries very hard not to think about. Always then she averts her eyes, takes a step back or replies something in a harsh voice, determined to keep up the distance between them. However, several times she has caught herself staring at him when she feels unwatched, getting lost in the curve of his forehead or the movement of his hands. What surprises her is how much she actually misses him. After weeks of spending night and day together she's grown used to their banter, their silly games, to him just being there all the time. And she realizes how little she actually knows about him, how many things she still has to ask of him. Where was he when WWII ended? What is the one dish that he simply detests? Does he prefer dogs or cats? All of a sudden these things seem very important but as with Stefan, there is only silence between her and Damon nowadays and she hasn't forgotten that it was her own choice, for the most part.

Elena thinks they are playing their roles well because, aside from Bonnie, nobody has made a comment so far.

"What's up with _him _lately?" she had asked after they passed Damon by in the driveway of the boarding house and he barely nodded in greeting. "Did you guys have a fight?" Her eyes had been fixing her curiously, head tilted up and Elena had heard herself telling her best friend in the world a complete lie for the first time in her life.

"Oh, you know, just Damon being Damon. He's probably still moping that I didn't let him go alone to find Stefan. Thank God I don't have to hear his smug comments twentyfour hours a day any more!"

And Bonnie just rolled her eyes dramatically, huffed once and agreed "Damon!" as if that would sum it up, while Elena was inwardly yelling at herself, pressing her fingernails so hard into her palm that they were bound to leave marks.

She doesn't want to lie to Bonnie, really, but she knows her friend, the strong animosity she feels towards Damon and her love for black and white judgments. Sadly, her own situation is nothing if not a big mess of grey right now and she can't bear the thought of Bonnie looking at her with incomprehension and disdain if she were to find out. She simply can't lose anyone else, so she rather lies.

The fact that Bonnie is so caught up with the problem of Jeremy and his ghostly ex-girlfriends is immensely relieving in that aspect, at least.

So it happens almost naturally that she's spending more and more time with Caroline and she can't help but think occasionally that vampirism is just maybe the best thing that ever happened to her. It frightens her a bit because it's still the last thing she would wish for herself, her desire to stay human nearly overwhelming whenever she looks at Stefan. Still, if somebody would want to advertise vampires, she couldn't imagine anyone more fitting and appealing than her blond, former second best friend. She still vividly remembers the Caroline of last year, always jabbering away about boys and social life, constantly checking her hair, insecure and, as she feared sometimes, a little jealous of her for reasons she could not really fathom. Of course, she is still immaculately dressed and determined to not let Elena lose herself in brooding, renting movies, dragging her to the mall, stuffing her with ice cream. These things haven't changed but when she looks at her now, it's like she sees a more refined, matured version of that girl. Instead of losing her humanity, she seems to just gain more of it every day. In the past she had been careful with her secrets around Caroline, always aware that gossip was a currency but when she imagines now how she'll ever own up to this thing with Damon, it always starts by talking to Caroline in her mind.

In the meantime, Elena has taken to jogging, for hours on end, through the beautiful, secluded woods that begin behind the boarding house and have grown over the old Salvatore Plantation. At a pace that is too fast to be comfortable, her feet are drumming on the dark, shaded trails until she is drenched in sweat, her sides stitching and her heart beating so forcefully that she can feel the blood pumping up to her fingertips. Only when she's about to collapse does she return to the boarding house, shakes the earth out of her shoes and takes a shower in Stefan's room where she still sleeps every other night. Though she never ventures over to his side of the bed, only seeks out the cool sheet where his body should lie with her fingertips.

It's almost fall now, the clouds are passing faster over the sky during the day and the nights are beginning to smell of wood fire and rotting leaves. She hasn't found herself in front of the fridge, searching for ice cream, since last week when school started again. On Sunday, Alaric has been raking the lawn in front of their house for the first time this year, filling up plastic sacks without saying a word about it.

In two weeks she will turn eighteen. An adult, officially now.

She meets up with Caroline downstairs in the parlor, downing a cup of coffee together before making their way further downstairs, Elena with a feeling that already reminds her of failure. When they arrive at the cellar door, she begins like she usually does, by telling him about the outside world.

"Tonight it's been really cold already, Stefan, I had to close the window when I woke up because my nose was freezing. Maybe I'll turn on the heating soon…" As usual she waits for an answer that never comes and continues, forcing her voice to sound normal. "Damon says he'll give you a little animal blood now, if you want it. He also says that the school secretary is sending him letters asking where you are and when you'll come back. He said he wants to know what he should tell them soon, because he didn't become a vampire to be stuck with annoying administration stuff." Another silent pause. "It's weird to be in school without you. I actually have started to really learn again, when I'm not distracted by some random vengeful vampire. Did you know that an embryo is completely covered with fine, long hair at some point during the pregnancy? Sometimes, though Mr. Carlson says that's very rare, the baby is born and has still long hair all over its body. Can you imagine? It must be like getting a little animal instead of a baby." Stefan remains silent. "Anyway, I bet you knew that already…" She can feel herself reaching that critical point already, the one that she tries to avoid but never does, the one where she starts to beg. "Do you know that it's my birthday in two weeks? Caroline says we have to throw a huge party because it's my eighteenth. I think she means something like gowns or a dress-up party by that. Do you want to know what my birthday wish is?" But still there is only silence and then she is breaking again, like she always does at some point of her visits. It's starting to leave her washed-out. "Please, Stefan, just say something, anything! Do you want to ignore me until you just mummify of undernourishment? I know you feel guilty, Stefan, but you have to talk to me. We miss you, all of us! Do you think we just got you back for nothing? Stefan, you have to trust me, we'll help you through this!" But there's no answer, like she already knew there wouldn't be. In sheer frustration Elena begins to pound against the thick door, the banging of her fists echoing loudly in the corridor. After a few seconds she can feel Caroline's arms stilling her movements, forcing her to stop her outburst.

"Easy, Elena, easy," she whispers assertively. "Why don't you let me talk to him for a second, hm? You wait upstairs and I'll try my luck for once, okay?"

She rubs her face wearily with both hands. "Okay, yes, maybe, I don't know, maybe he'll talk to you. I'll just -, I'll just wait in, um, upstairs." Then she turns around and trots away, her feet dragging a little over the stone floor. On the step that leads down to the sitting room she sinks down, chin on her knees, fingering the old carpet while she absentmindedly listens for any noise from the cellar. At first she hears nothing, the whole house is quiet except for the occasional creak in the old walls. Behind her closed eyelids the red, pulsing light is slowly putting her to sleep. Half dreaming, she can see herself going slowly down the steps to the cellar, then abruptly missing a step and with a flinch she snaps awake again. From the stairs she can hear Caroline's raised voice. She's not screaming exactly, that's something she hasn't heard her do since the day her father announced to her that he wanted to move in with another man. But it's as close to yelling as it get's and Elena slowly inches down the stairs, hoping that her friend will be too engaged in her tantrum to hear or care that she's there.

"I get it, Stefan, ok? We _all_ get it! You feel guilty and for a good reason too. But not talking anymore, _especially_ not to Elena, who was crisscrossing for weeks through several states to find you – well, that's just completely mean!"

"I know that, Caroline, alright? It's just that I simply can't look at her, after everything I did, all the people that I …" The sound of Stefan's voice, raspy with the lack of use, sounds unreal to Elena's ears. But it's certainly him, the pained tone so familiar that she can see his frowning face in her mind.

"Well, if you just go on ignoring her then you'll have another thing to be really ashamed of, that's for sure! Do you think Elena doesn't know of all these people? They were travelling in your wake, ok? And yet she's still here, simply wanting you to trust her so she can try to help you. And all _you_ do, is pretend she's not there when you should be _so_ thankful! Seriously, Stefan, if you weren't my friend I would, I would – God!" Words seem to fail her here, but knowing Caroline she's probably gesturing wildly through the air, trying to let off steam.

"No, you don't understand", Stefan insists. "I get these pictures of -, I can't be sure, all my memories are hazy but I think -, I think I might have killed a small girl." His voice gets so quiet in the end that Elena has to strain her ears to understand him, and Caroline's murmured response, going on for quite some time, becomes incomprehensible to her. The next thing she's able to understand is Caroline's question.

"Do you want me to get her? So you can talk to her?"

Stefan has barely let out a weak _yes _when she's already flying down the rest of the steps and to the opened cellar door. For the first time in weeks, he's not showing her his back; not looking her directly in the eye either but at least she can see his haggard, pale face now.

"Elena, I'm so, so sorry," His voice is earnest even if he's addressing the floor in front of his feet. "I don't understand how you can still look at me, after everything I did."

A very mean, small voice in her head comments _well, I don't know either_, another provides her with something she might have said once, back then when she still believed in Stefan's infallibility: _this is not you, Stefan, you're stronger than the blood, okay_? But what she finally says is something altogether different.

"I'm so glad that you're talking again. And I'll promise to help you, okay? Small steps at a time and all that." She's not ready to give him a hug just yet but she gives him a smile, without teeth, but still and the strange quivering in the corner of his mouth tells her that he's trying his best to return it.

Together with Caroline she makes her way upstairs again where Damon has apparently just returned from one of his numerous, mysterious trips about which she can't ask him any longer. She tells Caroline to fill him in while she gathers her stuff from Stefan's room before her friend is going to take her home. When she comes down again she catches Damon clapping Caroline on the back saying something like _good work_ in an almost fatherly tone. She has the urge to tease him about it before she reminds herself that, at least in one way, he actually is Caroline's father now and that, anyway, she no longer talks to Damon like that.

"So, glad to hear we have a _willing_ participant to our rehab program now. This should be fun!" He eagerly rubs his hands together, blinking with fake enthusiasm.

The two girls are hurrying by him on their way outside, casually telling him goodbye when Elena feels, just for a fleeting second, his finger stroking the outside of her hand in passing.

The lurch of hope and security in her chest is so powerful that it scares her.

One and a half week pass, with small amounts of blood and Elena and Caroline's supportive words before they let Stefan out of his cell. When he passes the ultimate resistance test, invented by Damon, and doesn't touch the bowl of human blood deposited in front of his bed for two days, Stefan's finally led upstairs, greeted by all of them like a lost brother. He is still careful around Elena, trying not to scare her but at the same time constantly seeking her presence, as if she's the only thing that's holding him up. Elena's glad to have him back, glad for the feeling of normalcy that the return of Stefan's old self gives her, but at the same time it's starting to feel like a burden, as if formerly he had been her rock in the grief over her parents and now he's suddenly dependent on her. It makes her feel so much older than him.

She's still running whenever she's got the time and doing her homework with a thoroughness she didn't even possess before Wickery Bridge. But it keeps her anchored now, busy with herself whenever Stefan's needs or the occasional glimpse she gets of Damon threaten to overwhelm her. Tonight, as they have agreed, she's going to sleep together with Stefan in his bed again for the first time since the sacrifice. The whole day she's been a little jittery about it, entirely unsure how it's going to turn out, considering she hasn't even kissed him again yet. But she's determined to try. Right now everything, this whole mess of her feelings for the two brothers, feels like it's tittering on a steep ridge and though she doesn't know which way she'll fall, to fall she wants.

A warm glowing light greets her when she enters Stefan's room in the evening, coming from dozens of candles spread all over the desk, floor and shelves. There are fresh flowers on the nightstand and she's pretty sure it's Norah Jones who's telling her that _somebody's going to be on her mind forever_. It's like the romantic, innocent dream of every teenage girl, this room and suddenly uncomfortable she turns to Stefan, who is lounging against the windowsill like the role model of the romantic hero.

"Wow, this is beautiful, Stefan," she begins, at which his eyes light up with a hopeful smile. "But you know that I'm not ready to – you know, go all the way just yet, right?" Her hands are twisting nervously in her pockets.

"Yes, of course, Elena, don't worry," The understanding smile never leaves his face. "I just thought this would make it a little easier, ease the tension and all that. I thought we could watch a silly movie together _and_ –" he pauses dramatically. "I got you hot chocolate!"

His eyes are looking at her with such an over-the-top pleading puppy expression that it makes her smile. "Okay, yes, I would love that," she answers him quietly, feeling as if she'd just made an important step. Hours later, tucked cozily under the blankets, her stomach filled to the brim with warm, sleep inducing cacao, she faces him in the red light of the candles, sure that she could now cross the distance between them with her hand without tensing up on the inside. She's already debating with herself to just reach for his hand when he suddenly opens his mouth.

"I've been meaning to ask you for a while," he says quietly. "Is everything alright between you and Damon? You two have hardly talked lately…"

Elena's pretty sure this question comes from the same place where he keeps the hazy memories of the night at the Lafayette Cemetery, but asking him about it would mean to acknowledge it so she just pulls her hand back and tries to think of a plausible explanation.

"No, it was just a little hard to be with him all the time, when we were looking for you. You know how he can be….plus, there's still the whole thing with the blood feeding, so..." She fiddles with the pillowcase, the cozy feeling slipping second by second out of her body.

"Of course," Stefan's reply comes immediately, his gentleman instinct kicking in infallibly. "I'm sorry I asked. This must still be hard for you."

"No, it's fine," she answers, the routine of _I'm sorry, no, don't worry_ so familiar that she doesn't even have to think about it. "Of course you were curious. Would you mind if I try to sleep now? I'm really exhausted."

"Of course", He's smiling, reaching over to slightly stroke her cheek, before he gently whispers _I love you_. Instinctively, Elena turns her pillow around with much rustling commotion, pretending she hasn't heard the last bit. She doesn't even feel very bad anymore. It's really just self-preservation at this point.

She wakes hours later in a dark room, realizing that the candles must have gone out long ago and she's unsure for a moment what woke her. Then she notices Stefan's arms, which he must have wrapped around her while sleeping, his hot breath is tickling uncomfortable in her ear. Trying to control her accelerating heartbeat she carefully pushes against him, trying to role him off her but it only causes him to pull her tighter against him. Now she's getting panicked, her breath coming in fast succession as she feels his whole body against hers. He's too hot, too heavy; he's making her dizzy, pushing her into the mattress with all his weight, his head pressing down on her throat.

"Stefan", she whines feebly. "Get off me, Stefan, I can't breathe!"

Now she can feel sweat breaking out as she begins to fight against him in earnest, aiming kicks at his legs, her hands fisting in his hair, trying to lift his heavy head.

"Stefan! Let go of me! Stefan!" She's yelling, almost crying in panic when he finally seems to wake, emitting sleepy guttural grunts that only serve to heighten her fear. Suddenly the pictures are flooding her mind again, reminding her that the very same man who tore those people apart is now hovering above her in the dark and she begins to thrash at him like a madwoman, scratching, biting whatever gets in her way.

"_NO! NO!"_ she's screaming at the top of her lungs. _"HELP! NO!"_

Finally he seems to be completely awake. "Calm down, Elena, it's just me! There's nobody here, I swear! Please, calm down!" he urges her, trying to hold her flailing arms. But Elena won't calm down, because can't he see that he, exactly he, is the problem, looming over her as nothing but a dark, threatening shape? Her sweaty hair is sticking to her face with the effort to push him off, a rumble of shrieking sobs flowing from her mouth.

And then, in the blink of a second, he's gone, light is blinding her and she's picked up by someone else, curling herself around him like ivy, closing her eyes tightly against his skin. Above her she can hear Damon quietly lash out at Stefan with cold fury.

"_Are you really this stupid, Stefan? What exactly were you trying to do, suffocate her? Scare her to death? Can't you see that she needs more time?"_

"It wasn't like that," Stefan is now defending himself. "I was asleep, I must have rolled over without noticing."

"Yeah, whatever, spare me," Damon comments, already retreating to the door when his brother speaks up again. "Wait, where are you taking her?"

"To my room, of course, she needs a shower", before he murmurs to Elena "Ssh, it's okay, you're alright. Everything's fine, Elena, you're okay."

They're almost out of the door when he can feel his brother's eyes burning on his shoulder blades. "That's strange, Elena said -, I didn't think you two had become this close…"

Damon ponders for a moment whether he should make the effort to dispel Stefan's doubts before deciding that he neither cares nor wants to. So instead he simply throws him a glance over his shoulder.

"Thought wrong then, didn't you?"

He doesn't bother to close the door behind him.

Once in his room, Elena feels herself be carefully lowered onto his giant bed and a second later the rushing sound of water tells her that he's running her a bath. She probably really needs one, judging by the feel of her clammy nightwear and the amount of goose bumps covering her skin. Now he's carrying her into the bathroom, but as he starts to tug at the hem of her shirt she stops him, feeling immensely shy all of a sudden.

"Really, Elena? I've already seen everything, you know…" When she still holds on to her shirt he adds "…and Stefan is still in his room, don't worry." She lets him get rid of her clothes now before stepping gingerly into the bathtub, the foam crackling gently against her skin. He must have put something in the water, the fragrance sweet and rich in the humid air and she instinctively knows that the smell will linger on her skin much longer, maybe even the whole next day. While she moves her limbs languidly through the hot water, Damon sinks on the ground beside her, leaning his head on the white porcelain rim of the bathtub. For a while there is only silence apart from the soft purling of water and bubbles. Then he turns his head until he's facing her, eyes unusually dark in the dim light.

"You have to make a decision soon, you know."

This is not what she wants to hear right now, it makes her angry, pushing her into defensive mode.

"Well, it certainly seems like you already made one since you're barely home any more. I don't even want to know how many women you've been with in the last weeks." She had meant for that to sound furious and accusing, instead it comes out all sad and desperate. God, she's not good at this manipulation stuff when it comes to him.

Damon's face seems to totter between anger and amusement. "Not that I feel the need to defend myself, considering that I just picked you out of my brother's bed, but if that makes you happy, rest assured that I '_haven't been with any woman'_ since New Orleans." His eyes seem to put her into trance. "I just couldn't -, I didn't want to -, I've had so many showers since we came back, Elena, but your smell is still all over me."

She doesn't know where to look to escape his desperate voice, the knowledge that they haven't been this close to each other since their return. Her reply is unsteady but she figures she owes him.

"Me and Stefan, it's not like you think, we haven't -, I mean I haven't even kissed him." She inhales shakily. "It just feels wrong, which is crazy, I know, because he's my boyfriend, after all – but somehow it would feel like a betrayal…"

"You still have to make a decision, Elena," he insists, not satisfied by the crumbs she's just thrown him.

"Remember what we agreed upon? I'd say Stefan has recovered by now."

"No, not yet," There's the panic again. "He's still not completely himself-"

"He's as good as he ever will be!" Damon interrupts her harshly. "Face it, Elena, he will always need you in some way or another and it's just your fucking sense of duty or God knows what that makes you unable to tell him goodbye!"

A heavy silence fills the bathroom as Elena eyes him timidly.

"Wait all you want, Elena, but I won't tell you that I, too, need you. Not even if it were true." His voice sounds low and defeated now. "When you come to me it will be because you want to, not as the result of some weird sense of responsibility."

She hates it when he does that, pointing out flaws in her motivations. "How dare you, Damon, this is not the reason why I'm with Stefan! You don't know me, I-"

And now he looks at her with honest surprise. "Oh, but I do know you. I know more of your secrets than anyone else. I have seen you when you were drunk, happy, brave, hysterical, ill, furious, jealous, crying, dying and resurrecting. I've spent a whole night making love to you. What more could I possibly need to know about you?"

It's the truth, she knows it. There's so much truth between them lately that it makes her feel naked, x-rayed.

"Okay," she whispers. "I know, I will decide soon, I promise."


	9. Chapter 9: Coming of Age

**AN: Okay, this is the second to last chapter! And finally Elena takes action again and that always makes me happy!**

**As per usual, thanks to my dear beta waltzmatildah and to all of my wonderful readers.**

**I look forward to hearing your opinion about this chapter...**

**Coming of Age**

On the late morning of Elena's birthday, everyone gathers at the Gilbert house for a big, lavish brunch. Tyler, who has somehow joined their little group with the subtle, diplomatic help of Caroline, brings a giant box of pastries from Mystic Falls' only fancy bakery, paid for with his mother's credit card, but delicious nonetheless. Bonnie and Caroline distribute liters of hot Chocolate and Coffee in a variety that rivals the range of every professional coffee house. Several bowls of every imaginable fruit seem to indicate that Damon and Stefan have raided grocery stores for miles around and the lovingly designed, if slightly crooked, mountain of strawberry cream cake in the middle of the table, topped with eighteen unquenchable candles, is the night long work of Jeremy and Alaric. Somebody, she suspects Caroline, went so far to set up a chocolate fondue that is now merrily bubbling at the center of the table, making everyone's mouth water at the sight of the sleek, dark liquid. In addition to that, the table is covered with the usual suspects: bacon, eggs, pancakes, jams and cheese. The small cupboard in the corner is barely visible under the amount of colorfully wrapped presents.

It seems to be the general intention to disguise the lack of so many people in their midst by the pure mass of gifts, food and affection. It's the middle of Indian summer, the past few days have been filled with golden light and warmth that seems to carry in it the seed of decay already. They have set up plates on the lately barely used table in the dining room which is filled at this hour with bright morning light, highlighting all the flower bouquets that occupy every free inch of space. The whole room smells heavily like bakery, café and flower shop all in one and they have to open a window, letting in cool morning air, to relieve the smell somewhat. After delivering an just slightly disharmonic, but decidedly heartfelt, version of "Happy Birthday" they make Elena blow out the candles and make a wish at least five times, because what use are unquenchable candles if not to get you more luck? A little dizzy due to the repeated blowing out of eighteen lights, Elena shuts her eyes tightly and wishes for nothing more than that everybody will be well from now on, no more death, no more pain. She doesn't need to be famous, earn a lot of money or receive the Nobel Prize in Literature one day, if only they're allowed to live in peace now. To celebrate birthdays like today and be almost completely happy in doing so. As the girls are threatening to get a little teary eyed, Jeremy declares that his stomach is about to devour itself if he won't be allowed to start eating – _NOW!_ which effectively shakes them from their sentimental mood.

It's easily the best breakfast most of them have had so far so the conversation dies down to delighted moaning, munching and the occasional plea to pass this or that. By the time no one is able to take another bite, except for Damon, who is methodically throwing the remaining strawberries in his mouth, Elena feels so heavy and unmovable that the thought of having still to go to the real party this evening seems impossible. The only thing that seems desirable right now is to stay slumped in this chair, _maybe_ move over to the sofa, and then just sit there and wait for the weight in her stomach to disappear. Naturally, this is not what she gets to do.

"Come on, open your presents now," Caroline squeals into her ear with a surprising amount of energy, clapping her hands in excitement.

Elena is not sure if she really wants to know what is in all of them. Her life has become such a minefield as of lately, she feels every gift, along with its emotional baggage, is a potential risk. She wishes she could just open them alone, in her room maybe, be free to react to them however she likes. However, there is no avoiding Caroline when she's wearing that psyched, anticipatory expression.

"Okay, okay," Elena finally relents when Alaric is already dumping arms full of them into her lap. "I'll do it, I'll open them!"

Under everyone's eager eyes, she begins ripping the wrapping paper apart, revealing first Caroline's expensive looking, halter less, silk stockings ("Every woman needs a pair of those, even if you never wear them.", "I second this!" Damon agrees), then Bonnie's new diary, bound in dark blue velvet, which makes Elena wonder if she really could start again, after she hasn't written in her old one for so long. From Alaric she gets a pair of high tech running shoes.

"I just noticed that you were doing that quite regularly now and the, um, sales-lady said these are perfect for cushioning your step over a long distance and with, you know, endurance running." He's scratching his chin self-consciously, apparently doubtful that he got her the right present.

"They're perfect," she beams at him, obviously meaning what she says. "Thank you, Ric!"

It makes him laugh awkwardly. "Okay, good," he mumbles, before he enfolds her in a somewhat clumsy, but affectionate embrace.

Tyler's present is the next one. "I decided to stay on the safe side," he explains while Elena reveals a generous gift card for Richmond's biggest mall.

"Oh," Caroline coos approvingly. "Good work, Tyler! Your wardrobe does need an update, Elena, I've been telling you for ages!"

To avoid a lengthy lecture about her fashion shortcomings or give Damon the opportunity to make further lewd comments, Elena quickly grabs for the next gift. Huge and rectangular, almost like a tablet, it had to be leaned against the table, in order not to fall down. She knows it's from Jeremy as soon as she opens it and her fingertips brush across the rough surface of thick, uneven paint. The life-sized painting shows a portrait of the Gilbert family as they might have looked two years ago. Jenna is there, John too, and in the middle are her parents, arms slung around their two children. They are all smiling and the bright, sunny colors that are dominating the whole work are belying the tragic things that later on happened to them. Jeremy already has his arm around her when she starts to cry.

"Ah, no, Elena, no crying, okay?" he gently prods her, in that adult voice that still surprises her. "This was supposed to make you happy, not sad! Come on, we can hang it up on the wall beside the bookcase, okay?"

It takes her several minutes to regain her composure, but nobody seems particularly surprised. Then Stefan appears at her side, holding a very small gift, beautifully wrapped in golden, glossy paper and tied with a white silk ribbon. Elena really doesn't want to open it, the packing already screams of persistent love and enduring faith and right now she's not sure how much she has of either. But again, she doesn't back out, instead preparing herself inwardly for the joyous surprised, slightly dazzled facial expression that most likely will be required from her. Sure enough, when she opens the small box, a pair of magnificent, long pearl earrings is lying inside on the red velvet. Under the envious _aahs_ and _oohs_ of Bonnie and Caroline, she hesitantly puts them on, surprised by the noticeable weight of them that is pulling her earlobes down.

"You look amazing," Stefan says and leans forward to kiss her on the cheek. The movement is causing the cool jewelry to dangle lightly against Elena's neck as she whispers with as much feeling as she can muster _Thank you_ into his ear.

The small table looks empty now and for a second the thought that Damon might have forgotten to get her a birthday present fills her with a disappointment so bitter she can taste it on her tongue. Then she notices the plain white envelope that seems to have slipped out of sight under the flower vase and she slowly pulls it out with fingers that she wills to be still and unshaking. _For Elena_ is written on it in strong handwriting, tilted as if it were attempting to fly off the paper and inside the envelope she can feel something hard and thin. As Elena carefully pulls out a cd, she can hear Caroline snort at her side.

"Really, Damon? A mix cd? That is _so_ cheesy!"

Damon, leaning against the wall and watching Elena with a strangely covert expression, remains unfazed by her comment. "It's not cheesy when I do it." A slight blush is now rising in Elena's cheeks as she's remembering their conversation about The Beatles and her reaction echoes through her mind: _Remind me to never ask you for a mix cd, will you?_ Damon is now in full-on smirk mode. "Besides, we had something like a challenge going on, didn't we, Elena? She thought I was incapable of creating a good mix cd," he elaborates for the others.

This seems to be a good enough explanation for them but as everyone starts to help clean the table, Elena notices that Stefan's eyes are once again switching nervously between her and Damon. To avoid provoking his mistrust any further, she ignores the track list that is also tucked inside the envelope and instead takes a stack of plates to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later and everyone has headed for home or to the Grill in order to prepare for the evening, except for Caroline who is helping Elena do the dishes and Stefan who is still in the dining room, stacking her presents back onto the table. When Elena hears him making a surprised noise, followed by a murmured _I can't believe it_, she'd rather pretend she hasn't heard him, but Caroline is there too and she, at least, has no reason to be worried.

"What's the matter?" she calls distractedly over her shoulder.

_Please, let it not be something about Damon's present,_ Elena prays inwardly, but it's already too late as Stefan enters the kitchen, holding the envelope up in one hand.

"It's just something Damon put on the cd," he says, showing them the track list. Elena feels dizzy for a second. Right on the top it reads _Stumbling In_, then, when her eyes fly further down, she discovers _Jealousy Tango_, followed by, of course, _Something_ and near the bottom of the list _Bad Things_. _Oh God_, she thinks desperately, realizing what he has really done here_. How deep am I in this when we already share special songs? _Thankfully, something else seems to be the reason for Stefan's surprise.

"Here," he says, pointing to number five. "The first movement of Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata. It's remarkable that he put it on here, that's actually one of the last memories I have of my mother. I must have been only six, seven at the most when we made a trip all the way down to Charleston, to visit my aunt. I remember that my mother had been planning the journey for weeks, nagging my father for permission. We were so excited, for Damon and me it was the first real traveling of our lives, alone with my mother because my father didn't want to leave the plantation for so long. Though I don't remember anything of actually being in Charleston, except for this one night when my mother took us to the concert. I think it was two really famous musicians, a violinist and a piano player, they'd come all the way from New York, or maybe even Europe, and my mother was determined that we should watch them because we never had anything like that at home. I remember that the hall was really crowded, people had been waiting months for this concert. Damon was positively transfixed when the music finally started, but I was still very young and I had never been exposed to something like that before, so I was easily distracted. I must have begun fidgeting. That's why my mother leaned down to me and told me that I should know that the violin and the piano were in love."

He smiles a little, reminding Elena suddenly of the pre-summer Stefan. "_Listen, darling_, she said. _When you listen very carefully, you can hear how they're fighting sometimes, and then, a little later, they make up and start dancing with each other_. And it really was amazing, suddenly it wasn't just music I was listening to but also a story and I could actually hear how the instruments were talking with each other, sometimes how they touched each other. _Listen_, she would say_, can you hear how the piano is apologizing now? Can you hear them embracing?_ On the other side of my mother I could see Damon smirking about her method, before he leaned over to me. He said something like _Hey Stefan_, _can you hear how madly they love each other?_" Elena can feel her hands clench painfully around the soapy plate in the dishwater as Stefan chuckles softly at the memory.

"Later, on the ride home, Damon told us that he was planning on becoming a violinist too and that he would play the Sonata one day. My mother made fun of him, said it was the most difficult piece in the world to play for a violinist but he insisted that he would become good enough one day."

At this point Stefan seems to be finished with his story but Elena can't help but ask:

"So did he? Did he learn to play the violin?"

Stefan looks up at her with observant eyes. "No, of course not. My father wouldn't let him, said he didn't need any weak, artsy, good-for-nothing sons. It's funny that he put it on here, don't you think? It must be very personal to him..."

Elena turns around to the sink again, finding it hard to keep looking at Stefan. "I don't think so. He probably just likes the music, right? Isn't the whole point of a mix cd to put on it songs that you like?"

She half counts on Stefan to question her further but luckily, Caroline seems to have gotten bored of the subject.

"Okay, that's enough about music and mix cd's, you –" she points one perfectly manicured finger at Stefan, "have to go now. Help Alaric with the decorations or something, Elena and I have girl's stuff to do!"

Twenty minutes later Elena sits on her bed, hair and body wrapped in towels and surrounded by an intimidating, ever mounting heap of dresses and shoes while Caroline continues to empty her wardrobe.

"Ah, this is so difficult," she mutters, her happy smile completely contradicting the words that just left her mouth. Elena simply lets her have her way, listening while her friend rambles on about the difficulties of planning a party like that. After pretending for a week to discuss everything with Elena, Caroline single-handedly decided to organize a 20ies themed party for her. _After all_, she argued after everything was sealed, _no girl ever dislikes the Twenties_.

"_Classy_ is what I said to the florist and he has the nerve to bring me sun flowers, can you believe it? I know they are beautiful, but _classy_? Seriously?"

Finally Caroline decides on a knee length, specifically purchased Charleston dress and a pair of black shoes that Elena accepts without really looking, already having forgotten the color of the dress. If Caroline notices her lack of enthusiasm she doesn't comment on it and instead rummages through Elena's drawer of jewelry and hair stuff. If Elena heard her correctly she is determined to style her hair in finger waves for tonight. Seconds later she appears behind her again, dragging the comb gently through her friend's shiny, brown hair and fastening the clips before she slowly lays Eva's picture of Damon in Elena's lap.

"Hey, Sweetie," her voice is unusually gentle. "Do you want to tell me what a photo of Damon is doing hidden beneath your accessories?"

Elena can't breathe for a second, her eyes fixed on picture-Damon, asking herself why on earth she ever thought the drawer to be a better hiding place than her purse. She can feel her skin growing cold from the outside. She doesn't know what to do.

"It's okay, Elena, you don't have to confess or anything. I just thought you might want to finally tell me what's going on." She seems to be finished now with preparing the finger waves, instead brushing the left over hair with careful, regular strokes. But then she can feel Elena's shoulders starting to hunch, sees the first suppressed, tremors running over her skin and she puts the brush aside, instead folding both her arms around her friend and pulling her back against her own body. While Elena hears herself having the second hysterical breakdown of the summer, she wonders when exactly she developed into this teary girl, full of compromises and deception. What happened to the old Elena who could stand up for herself and demanded to hear the truth, to _live_ with the truth, at all costs? She must have lost her somewhere after Jenna's death, between holding on to a boyfriend she no longer recognized and falling for the wrong brother.

"I don't know when it started," she can hear herself telling Caroline in a wrecked, hiccoughing voice before she launches into a retelling of the summer. She recounts the night of the open-air movie, how the thought of losing Damon, the sight of his feverish, open eyes gutted her. She recounts everything that happened on their trip, even the night in New Orleans and how she can't find a way out now of the maze of what she feels. Caroline listens to all of it with troubled eyes and soothing hands, not interrupting her once. Finally Elena is finished and rubs at her dry eyes, too self-conscious to look at her friend.

"Okay, that's – unfortunate, but okay, we'll figure this out," she declares in typical Caroline's glass is always half full fashion. "We'll start by trying to simplify it, okay?" Caroline has nothing if not a plan and Elena feels infinitely grateful for something resembling neatness and weight being lifted from her shoulders.

"Let's begin with Stefan, do you still love him?" Caroline blurts it out as if wanting to get the worst out of the way first.

"I think so," Elena quietly sniffles. "But it's hard to say, it feels more like a decision, you know? Like I have to remind myself that I'm still in love with him, there's no overwhelming certainty anymore."

Caroline watches her thoughtfully for a minute. "You're only eighteen, Elena, you don't have to stay with the love of your high school years for the rest of your life. Not even if he's a vampire. And not even if he needs you as his moral lifeline."

"But I don't want to lose him, Car. I don't want to lose anybody else, not anymore." This is the root of all her doubts, she finally realizes.

"But you won't, Elena! I mean, of course you will, somehow, but that will happen anyway when you two continue to drift apart, believe me. It will only get worse if you drag it out unnecessarily. Besides, have you met Stefan? He's like this good Christian with the slapping on both cheeks or whatever. He _lives_ for second chances and redemption. When he's not having drug-induced black-outs, I mean."

"It scares me, Car, letting go of him," she admits.

"I know, Sweetie, it's always scary to let go of someone. I could say something about band aids and ripping them off if you want me to? And by the way, what happened to my friend who broke up with Matt because it didn't feel right anymore? The one who saw what she wanted and went for it?"

"I guess I lost her together with my last remaining parents?" Elena replies hesitantly, trying hard not to sound self-pitying.

"Time to resurrect her, I'd say. Though she can't be very far, considering _you slept with Damon freaking Salvatore!"_Caroline's voice ends with a shriek, as if she's just now remembering the whole momentousness of it all.

Elena pulls suspiciously her brows together, a smile miraculously tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You say that like it's some kind of achievement."

Caroline grasps both her hands, eyes widening with the importance of what she wants to tell her. "Don't take this the wrong way, Elena, but I always used to think that you would be too chicken, or righteous maybe, to act on your thing with Damon."

"_My thing with Damon?_ What do you mean, I never-"

"Oh, of course, you're never, Elena! But every idiot could see that the two of you were sparking something in each other. Fighting _can_ be a kind of foreplay, Elena, and-" Drowning in giggling under Elena's slapping hands, Caroline never finishes the sentence.

When they're both laying on their back a minute later, heads side by side, Caroline turns serious again.

"You must really love him."

"I guess so," Elena's now reflexively bending the picture. "Whenever I'm with him, I get this feeling of-" she swallows hard, her hands now fluttering nervously over her body to indicate the changes she can't quite define "- as if my lungs were growing and my, my whole skin feels like it's warming up. Caroline, with him, everything is dancing and music and colors, spices, jokes and silliness. I don't understand it, Caroline, he's been dead for over one hundred years, how can he possibly be so full of life?"

She doesn't get an answer, instead the vampire girl is slowly twirling Elena's hair around her finger before she gets up in one swift movement.

"I'll just pretend like I'm sensitive now and leave you alone to do your make-up. But seriously, Elena, try to come to a decision, even if it hurts. This whole deceiving, wishy-washy thing – that's not you."

Energized, Elena gathers her make-up in front of the bathroom mirror, hesitates for a second and then goes downstairs to get Damon's cd and put it on in her room. While she's doing her eyebrows in auto-mode, she listens more intently than she has ever listened to anything before. Every line of the lyrics that she catches seems to be a direct message from Damon and somehow it's not important that a lot of the songs are actually women's voices, he seems to speak directly to her anyway. It must be the eeriest mix cd she ever got. _Every word seems to feel like you don't care_, her hand slips at the end of the brow. _Right before my eyes I saw the whole world lose control_, the brush swipes the eye shadow too high on her lid. _I will wait a lifetime to give in to you_, the mascara leaves a black streak over her nose. When she messes up her eyeliner for the third time she decides she's not ready for the whole thing yet and goes over to stop the cd.

After that it takes only five minutes to finish the whole procedure and she also almost reaches a decision regarding her very own love triangle. She's slumped on her bed, adjusting the straps of her shoes, her heart racing with the realization of what she's about to do. She has already grabbed her purse, when she slowly turns back towards her old stereo and fast-forwards to the last song, knowing enough about the art of mix taping to know that the last song always holds a special meaning. Even before the first line of that strange, almost male sounding voice, she recognizes the song. _I put a spell on you_, tells her Nina Simone, _'cause you're mine!_ Elena tilts her head back to keep the few, involuntary tears in, taking deep breaths, before she hurriedly leaves her room to the hoarse, desperate cries of _I love you! I love you! I love you!_ that seem to echo on in her mind.

The drive to the boarding house appears to take longer than usual and her knuckles are white spots on the steering wheel with the effort to hold them calm. _I can't believe I'm about to do this, _she thinks_, I simply can't believe I'm really doing this._

When she turns into the driveway, her headlights sweep over the entrance, giving her a glimpse of Damon who is standing there, hands in his pockets and watching her. Of course he would already be here, Elena thinks dryly, stopping the car and loosening her seat belt very deliberately. He probably hasn't even heard her and just knew she was coming. The bang of the car door, the crunching of the gravel under her heels, is ear numbing as she slowly walks towards him. He's wearing a white dress shirt with a tucked in silk handkerchief and suspenders. The light of the opened door behind him glances off the polished black of his shoes and his hair, kempt back with verve and what she assumes to be a lot of pomade. Dressed up like a wealthy bootlegger, she decides, before conceding that he was probably doing just that in the twenties. Right now he's watching her approach with his head slightly thrown back, a stillness about him that is unusual and unnerving. She stops at a safe distance before him, wringing her hands while she tries to decide on the best way to start this off.

"I just came by to let you know that I made a decision, because I realized something and I wanted to tell you first"

If possible, he becomes even more motionless.

"I don't want to lie anymore and I'm of age now, so I guess I'm allowed to make some rash decisions once in a while. And I will talk to Stefan later, make a clean sweep." She takes a deep breath, filling her lungs completely before releasing the air again in one rush. "I want to be with you, Damon."

He opens his mouth as if to say something, before halting and closing it again. Though Elena is sure she can detect the telltale twinkle in his eyes. "Haven't you forgotten something?" He has inched decidedly closer, leaning his head down to her.

"I – I don't know what you mean…" Elena trails off, thrown off balance by his sudden closeness.

"The part about what exactly you realized…?" His eyes are transfixing her, slowing the pace of her thoughts so it takes a minute for her to comprehend his question.

"Oh, yes! I just realized that I'm in love with you and-"

She gets one glimpse of a smile lighting up his face, making her think of rainbows and early morning sun and jubilant violins before his arms are around her and he's lifting her off the ground.

"_I love you, I love you, I love you_," he whispers into her ear while he begins to slowly spin with her on the spot. Elena has tucked her face in the side of his neck, an uncontrollable smile making her cheeks hurt as she's relishing in the closeness of him after such a long time. Gradually he quickens his pace, lifting her legs higher off the ground until she can feel the warm air of Indian summer stroking over the insides of her thighs. _I love you, I love you, I love you_ he's whispering and he's twirling them now at almost vampire speed, causing her dress to flutter around her legs while the safe spot of his neck remains stable and quiet. _I love you, I love you, I love you._


	10. Chapter 10: The End of the Party

**AN: This is the end, you guys! And believe it or not, I suddenly found myself needing the M-rating after all...;) Though it makes me a little nervous publishing it, so be kind, alright?**

**A giant thanks to all you wonderful readers and reviewers, I probably wouldn't have finished this story without you. And even though it was my first work, you all made me feel very welcome, thanks for that! Hugs for everybody!**

**I'm not working on another story at the moment, but I imagine I will be because I had so much fun writing fanfic. Maybe you'll hear from me soon!**

**Until then, I hope nobody's disappointed with this last chapter but even if you are, let me know, critic is always welcome and will hopefully help me with future writing.**

**And finally, again, so much credit goes to my amazing beta, waltzmatildah. If you have time, go read her story too, because it is simply perfect!**

**The End of the Party**

When he finally lets her down on the ground again, Elena feels as if a little eternity has passed. As if she had just grown two more inches. She holds her spine very erect, looking Damon in the eyes with an openness that is still new and unfamiliar, yet immensely thrilling. His hands are stroking over her arms in long, savoring movements and once again his eyes on her are enough to send her pulse into a frenzy. Slowly, his palms slide up to her shoulders with a laziness that gives her all the time in the world to lose control over her breathing, before finally tangling his fingers in her hair and gently tilting her head back.

Time seems to run in slow, twisted patterns when he finally brushes his lips against hers, retreating again, stroking over her jaw, than coming back to her mouth until she's shaking all over and has to hook her thumbs in his belt loops. Dimly she wonders if he might be somehow drugging her with each languid stroke of his tongue because she can't really recall having unbuttoned his shirt but now she's gliding her hands over smooth skin with an indulgence that rivals Damon's.

A large part of her screams for action, for ripping their clothes off _now!_ but his languorous touches seem to hypnotize her until all her blood seems like it's rushing through her body in a deep, drawn-out rhythm, making it pound from head to toe. It's because he's happy, she realizes with astonishment, so utterly happy that it pours out of every pore and his every movement seems to be covered in honey. Her assurance that she's not going to run from them anymore allows him to take as much time as he wants. Only Damon could make her feel this worshipped, Elena realizes dryly, when she's actually standing in a deserted driveway, clad only in shoes and underwear, her elaborate dress pooling around her feet on the gravel.

He's hoisting her up on his hips now, wrapping her legs around his waist and walking her slowly backwards to his Camaro, never once stopping the flow of caresses that he's pouring over her body. His hands are gliding over her shoulders, butt, hips, belly and breasts, like he's trying to impress his touch onto every single inch of her skin. It has her reduced to content sighing, to rubbing her skin against his and letting her tongue swipe over his collarbones. The hood of the car feels warm under her thighs due to a day of sunlight and she's all instincts and senses now. Even if she'd never been given The Talk, years ago, Elena is sure she would have known what to do. Her hands would have found his belt buckle on their own, would have drawn his pants down without her prompting them to. The second she finally feels him inside of her is so perfect, so achingly right and long waited for, that they both elicit a indefinable sighing, sobbing noise before holding still for a moment, savoring the closeness of each other.

"_Elena,_" he whispers into her neck, making her name somehow sound like a love declaration.

"_Damon_," she answers, blindly searching his mouth as her whole being clenches with need for this man in her arms.

Elena can feel his mouth trembling when he meets her searching lips, his shuddering breath entering her own mouth with his hot, stroking tongue until she feels like going insane and then, finally, he begins to move. Bringing them together with a rocking motion in time with her own rushing blood, each beat molding them closer together until it seems their skins have melted and she can't tell any longer which part belongs to her and which to him. The sweat on his straining shoulder is glistening in the low porch light.

He's chanting her name again, urgent and low, as if it's all he ever wants to say from now on, and they're trembling against each other, clawing at skin, hands fisted in hair, every muscle tense until a keening wail tumbles forth from her lips, his arms pulling her impossibly tight against him. She can feel his shoulders ripple under her own shaking hands as he, too, tumbles over the edge, his forehead burning hot against her neck, and Elena pulls his jerking hips closer with her legs. And even as the colors and contours of her surroundings begin to twirl before her eyes, the clarity of the moment and the reality of everything she feels for this vampire is so sharp, so undeniable. _How could I've ever walked away from this_? she wonders incredulously, _how did I succeed with not touching him, not looking at him, not loving him for so long?_

While their breathing slows and the sweat dries in the cool evening air, Damon resumes his lazy stroking patterns on her back and Elena drags her lips dreamily over every inch of his skin she can reach. They're still so close to each other, still joined at the waist, that whispering is enough. Whispering _I missed you, I was so stupid, I'm sorry, it's okay, you were right_ and again and again _I love you_.

She would be absolutely fine with staying like this for hours but the thought that she owes it to Caroline to at least show up at her elaborately planned party makes her nudge Damon's shoulder to indicate they have to get dressed.

"No," Damon pouts immediately. "I'm not going to Barbie's dress-up fantasy. I'm at my happy place right now, Elena, you, naked and sweaty, on my car, me still inside of you, _very_ much alive…" he emphasizes his point with a gentle thrust of his hips, giving her the slow, post-coitus version of the Eye Thing and Elena has the urge to giggle, moan and punch him at the same time.

"I have to go there, Damon," she resists nonetheless. "Caroline has gone to sorts of trouble. And I also still have to tell Stefan about us."

This seems to sober him up instantly and he slowly lets her go before picking up their discarded clothes. After he has zipped her up he tries to rearrange her completely destroyed finger waves into something resembling a hairstyle while Elena tucks the silk handkerchief back into his breast pocket.

"You look wild," she laughingly comments as she's trying to smooth his hair back again and he carefully wipes off some of the smudged mascara from under her eyes. "So do you," and it sounds like the world's biggest compliment.

They make the drive to The Grill together in his Camaro and Elena asks him to pretend for another last hour.

"Just until I have told him," she explains. "I don't want him to find out from somebody else, I don't want to hurt him any more than necessary."

"'Course," he agrees. "But don't drag this out, Elena. I have pretended that we're just friends before and it was no fun at all."

When they arrive at the Grill, he holds her back for a second before she opens the door and grabs her hand. "He will get over this, Elena, no matter what you think or what he'll say. I know my brother - he always finds a way back."

Behind the entrance door it's like another world tonight, no pool playing teens, no blasting pop music, even the smell of frying oil seems to have disappeared. Caroline is nothing if not thorough and Elena almost has to laugh when she notices the number of large white flower bouquets that disguise the cooking smells and seem to have written _classy_ on every single petal. What's even more breathtaking are the people who have clearly taken the twenties challenge quiet seriously. Feathers, shiny bobs and beaded dresses as far as her eyes can see, interwoven with the men's black suits and the white shirts of the caterers. She's almost sure that she detects the green of absinth on one of the tables. At the far end of the bar is a big band, momentarily playing a fast jazz number and some of her less known high school friends are apparently trying to conquer the dance floor by goofing around to the unfamiliar music.

Behind her, Damon is groaning in exasperation. "Jeez, this girl needs a hobby…"

It's the most beautiful birthday party she will ever not appreciate enough.

At a small table at the edge of the cleared dancing space her closest friends have gathered, with Stefan in the middle, wearing one of his timeless, not really disguising, suits.

Although Elena is still standing at the other side of the room, his eyes are trained on her, filled with the expectant, slightly possessive expression that has begun to make her feel suffocated lately. _Another hour_, she silently reminds herself before walking over and making sure to keep a carefree smile on her face.

But then Jeremy forces her to try every single snack on his plate, as if their lunch never even happened, Bonnie insists on teaching her the Charleston choreography and Caroline keeps going on about the perfection of her organization and the severe non-perfection of every girl Tyler decides to dance with. At the edge of her vision she can see Damon lounging at the bar, to all appearances completely enthralled by his drink, but for all she knows he could as well have eyes in the back of his head. She's not stalling exactly, it's just that she can't decide on how to go about telling Stefan and every distraction gives her more time to think. So far she's come up with absolutely nothing.

She's carefully slurping the last bit of coke from between the ice cubes at the bottom of her glass when Stefan suddenly appears at her side and slips an arm around her waist.

"Do you want to dance, Elena? It's only a waltz at the moment so I should probably grab the chance to not embarrass myself, and you, on the dance floor."

"I'd love to," she replies with a close-lipped smile, thinking _how appropriate, I'm going to finally say goodbye to him during the 'Last Waltz'_.

There are more couples on the floor now, made bold by the familiar, easy dance and Stefan has to pull her rather closer to avoid brushing elbows or stepping on somebody's toes. The loving smile is on his face again, complete with soulful, green eyes and Elena cannot for the life of her think of a way to begin the conversation they have to have tonight. _Whoever said 'I love you' are the hardest words is an idiot_, she thinks bitterly. The most difficult to surely has to be _I don't love you enough anymore_. Even harder to say _I'm head over heels for your brother now_.

"Are you enjoying your party?" he enquires thoughtfully and Elena almost snorts at the absurdity of it all.

"Yes, of course, absolutely," comes her instant reply, however, born of years of perfecting social talk.

"Why did you arrive together with Damon, earlier?" he inquires after a second, clearly aiming for the simply curious, not bothered at all tone. At a loss for words, Elena begins to chew on her lip before deciding on a slightly vague answer.

"Oh, you know, he just left something at my place and offered to give me a ride." Inwardly she is hitting herself at the missed chance to delve into what she has to tell him tonight.

Over Stefan's shoulder she catches glimpses of Damon who is now openly turned towards them, clearly issuing a plea with his eyes to finally tell Stefan the truth. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons are undone and it worries her that she counts at least three refills of his tumbler during her glances. Returning her attention back to Stefan she can feel the song nearing its end and in desperation she abruptly stops and opens her mouth.

"Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about, Stefan." This must be the hardest thing she has ever done but determinedly she forces herself to keep going, to rip off this giant, hurting Band-Aid. "You must have noticed that we've been drifting apart for a while now and I'm so sorry, Stefan, but I don't think I can do this anymore. You and me, we're just -"

But he won't let her finish the sentence when she starts to search for words. "Yes, I know, Elena. Things haven't exactly been good between us lately but I want you to know that I love you and I know you're trying very hard. It's so much more than I'll ever deserve." At this point he gently cups her cheek in his hand while Elena mutely listens. "But we'll get through this, I promise. Look at everything we have overcome so far, Elena. We're stronger than this."

The song is over now, people are shuffling all around them on their way back to their tables while Elena feels like opening and closing her mouth in shocked silence like a fish. _He's closing his eyes to the mess we're in_, she realizes, _he simply doesn't want to see that our drifting apart is so serious this time_. Unable to think of a gentle but honest return, she stays silent which Stefan unfortunately seems to understand as confirmation, smiling lovingly down at her. The musicians start up again and Elena still hasn't found her voice, but that doesn't seem to bother Stefan.

"Do you want to keep on dancing? I'm sure I know the basic steps of tango…" he holds one hand out to her in invitation when she suddenly feels somebody stepping very close to her back, pressing a palm into the low dip of her spine.

"Sorry, baby bro, but nobody wants to see your 'basic tango steps'." Underneath the mocking, Damon's voice is laced with barely suppressed fury. "It might force me to deny our blood relationship."

Stefan simply inclines his head with a half-smile, clearly trying to avoid an argument, and steps back in surrender with a last, feeling look at Elena who has already been swept into the middle of the dance floor by his elder brother.

Under the disguising noise of the music, Damon pulls her nearer and whispers hotly into her ear, his closeness evoking memories of earlier this evening.

"He can waltz with you all he wants, jive, twist, _I don't care_. But he doesn't get to dance tango with you, not ever. That right belongs to _me_."

Angered by his possessiveness, Elena pushes two hands against his chest, trying to maintain a decent distance between them. "What are you doing, Damon? You can't dance tango with me, he'll know about us, you know he will."

Ignoring her hands, he pulls her closer again. "And that's exactly why we're going to do it, seeing as your method has failed so far. I'm not pretending anymore, not even for my brother. If he won't listen, he'll just have to watch." And as if to prove his point, he pulls her leg up around his waist while Elena registers for the first time the feverish tango music that will forever remind her of the day when, nearly boiling with jealousy, she saw him practically making love to a woman on another, smoky dance floor. If he was like that with Susanne, how on earth will it be when he's dancing with her?

She doesn't have much time to ponder this, because Damon already has her hand in his, draping her other arm around his neck and pulling her flush against him. "You remember the basic steps that Robert taught you?" She nods hesitantly, feeling herself succumb to his touch once again as if it's the only compulsion that he needs with her. "Good, then just follow my lead."

His 'up to no good' smirk is distracting her momentarily and before she can try to argue further, he's already twirling her across the floor. Her hair is flying around her face with the speed of his turns and her fingernails are digging into his skin with the unexpected sensation. Then he drapes her over his arm, pulls her upper body down until she can feel all her muscles stretching and she simply let's go.

Barely initiating any of the steps herself, there are only Damon's legs sliding in between hers, nudging her in the right direction and his hands molding her body in time to the music. It reminds her acutely of the last time they were dancing, of the humid air of New Orleans and of his hands, guiding her hips, hypnotizing her until she felt nothing but desire for him. His hands are so bold on her body now, it makes her feel like blushing and holding her head high at the same time. The figures he somehow enables her to perform should be impossible for her. Resting only on his thigh with her hip, having him stretch her out on the floor in an almost split or lifting her up so far that she looks down on him. His hands seem to be everywhere on her body, gripping here, pressing there and stroking up the outside of her stocking covered thigh, just for the pleasure and because he can now. Dimly she registers that they're by now the only couple left on the floor, which is increasingly being surrounded by a watching crowd. All the other pairs must have fled from Damon's sweeping figures or maybe from his intimidating expertise.

Every time she has a moment of clarity, realizing that everyone is seeing how intimately he's touching her, she gathers the last shreds of her will power to confront him, to make him move their dance over to the more platonic kind. But he just locks her in a second long, tense stand, eyes boring into hers, so incredibly close and a moment later she's melting again, already forgetting what her problem was to begin with.

All the time she can feel his hard body against hers, pressed to her hips, heating up the bare skin of her back, the soft hair of his forearms rubbing feverishly over her own skin. Elena's going wild in his arms, tensing and bending, following his impulses, fisting her hands in the collar of his shirt until one button gives way, then another. At the end of their next out-spin, her palm lands flatly on the naked triangle of his chest that the shirt is now exposing and Damon's hand reaches immediately up to hold it there. The next moment one of her legs is lying over his shoulder, his hand circling her naked calf while he's dipping her upper body back on his arm. She's not even sure how she managed to get it there, probably some left over knowledge from her cheerleader days. It should be impossible to be this in sync with another person but not once does she feel afraid of slipping, of falling down.

Damon was right: if New Orleans had never happened she would not be able to dance like this now, with the knowledge of sin and passion, of jealousy and giving in practically spilling out of her every movement. And she certainly could never dance with Stefan like this. Maybe it's the result of everything else she did today, admitting her love to Damon, having sex on a car, under the open night sky, but she's feeling positively grown-up and reckless and every touch of his hands emboldens her more. It's almost as if a string runs from her eyes to Damon's that seems to pull at her together with his hand, which is cupping the back of her head and slowly dragging her upwards until their noses are achingly close to touching. Lips quivering with a kiss that does not happen but might already have or might be desperately desired. Every last person in The Grill will be able to see.

The song seems to be coming to an end and Damon grabs her from behind, over her ribcage, her left leg twines around his hip while he's sliding his other arm all along the taught, graceful line of her right, outstretched leg and spinning her in a wide circle until she has to lay her head back down on his shoulder with dizziness.

Then the cello strikes its last, strong note and he swiftly flips her around, bending her down until her hair almost touches the floor and his own forehead comes to rest at the top of her chest.

There seems to be an audible, joined gasp as everyone registers what just happened. Elena Gilbert, the poor, orphaned birthday girl, just danced completely shameless with the dauntingly handsome, older brother of her boyfriend. And he was touching her like most of the present teenagers wouldn't dream of touching their boyfriends and girlfriends. In the short silence, Elena can almost hear the beginning whispers of the scandal, the outraged gossip and the judging, jealous eyes of the girls that are already gliding over her like an unpleasant touch. Right now, however, there is still Damon's head under her chin, his ragged breathing hot on her skin, mingling with her own, uneven exhaling. She can feel her heart beating furiously against his cheek. Finally he pulls her up, making sure to remain inside her personal space and his eyes are blazing down at her with something that looks like admiration and awe.

"Daaamn, Elena." His left eyebrow is twitching with mischief. "You just let me completely dishonor you in front of all your friends. I am _so _proud of you."

Elena knows she'll most likely regret this by tomorrow, or rather, ten minutes from now, but right this second she's riding high on adrenalin and the grin that splits her face is unstoppable. She has to bite her lip in order not to succumb to giggling.

In the background she can hear clapping and cat calling starting and they slowly turn towards the only table where the occupants' opinions matter. Caroline's face stands out because it's practically bursting with suppressed euphoria. Elena has the strong impression that, if given her way, her friend would be bouncing up and down right now, clapping madly while cheering her on with completely inappropriate comments. Bonnie on the other hand is staring at her as if she were a complete stranger, one she wouldn't be very eager to get to know. At least partly, Elena has expected it, but it definitely hurts to actually see this deprecative expression on the face of her oldest friend. Beside Bonnie, Jeremy is looking mildly surprised, watching her with raised eyebrows as if to say: Damon, really? Ok then…

Blessed be teenage, younger brother, nonchalant acceptance capabilities.

Alaric is not looking at her but fixing Damon with something she can't quite decipher, possibly because she doesn't speak their bro language.

The face she has avoided so far, a little to the side of the group, standing also out because of the whirlwind of emotions that's running over it, is, weirdly enough, also not focused on her but on the man at her side. She can see the snarl rising in Stefan's throat and is just starting to take a step forward when he's already launching at Damon, grabbing him forcefully by the shoulders while his brother mirrors his stance in defensiveness. From where she stands, Elena can feel the ground under her feet quaver with the barely controlled strength emanating from them. People are starting to turn, to watch with unashamed glee the fall-out of Elena's step out of line.

She hasn't felt this afraid in months. These are her two men, fighting because of her, fighting _over_ her. Except that Stefan hasn't looked at her once since they stopped dancing. And maybe this isn't about her after all.

On Stefan's face, betrayal and wrath seem to wrestle with one another and his hissing voice is quivering with a dangerous mixture of hatred and pain.

"Tell me it's not true, _brother_," the last word falls on the ground between them like something gone bad. "Tell me you did not sleep with my girlfriend while I was gone."

It is like watching the fuse of a bomb burn off, as Damon's silence, second by second, solidifies into a confirmation of sorts. Alaric and Caroline seem to be the only ones still keeping their wits because as soon as Stefan starts to growl deep in his chest, they're both pushing against the fighting brothers, pulling them towards the back exit.

"Don't be stupid, Stefan," Caroline hisses at him. "You take this outside, now, before the whole town has front row seats to your family drama!"

When they've finally dragged them outside, in the deserted alley behind The Grill, Bonnie magickes the door shut behind them and Caroline, impeccable party planner that she is, hurries back inside to distract her guests. Elena stays in the alley but backs off with lightening speed as Stefan slams Damon hard into the next wall. She fists her hands into her hair, trying in vain to hold the hysterical tears back.

"How could you do this to me? After everything I gave up to save you?" Under the growling surface is a whining quality to Stefan's tone that makes Elena's hairs stand up.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Damon tells him in a surprisingly calm voice, given the murderous force with which his brother is clutching at his throat. His own arms are hanging limply at his side, not even his pinky finger raised in self-defense.

"Why do you always have to take what's mine? Why can you never not begrudge me anything?" He's shaking Damon now, making his head bang repeatedly against the wall.

"It's not like that," Damon chokingly says, and suddenly Elena can see them, like they must have been once, the two, motherless brothers, looking out for each other, fashioning fishing rods, learning to ride, teaming up against the world. Damon's bed must once have been the place where Stefan fled to when he had a nightmare, when he didn't want to be alone.

"This is not about you," Damon tries to explain now. "I really love her, you know. And I'm pretty sure she loves me too. At least that's what she said," he elaborates, searching out her eyes over his brother's shoulder.

The cry that is tumbling from Stefan's mouth echoes brutally in the empty alley. And apparently she's not the only one with eyes. Not the only one who can see that under the apologetic, clearly remorseful surface, there is still happiness glowing out of Damon, unstoppable and so very obvious to him because Stefan probably hasn't seen his brother truly happy since 1864. Stefan's fist makes a sickening cracking noise on Damon's jaw and then he's raining hits and kicks down on him like a hail storm, all the while choking on his own tears and guttural cries. He appears to by oblivious to Elena's cries from behind his back, to her pleas to stop it, to leave his brother alone and she doesn't dare approach him while he's handing out blows so fast that she can't see them, his whole face so distorted that it resembles that of a stranger.

Damon is taking it all, not moving one muscle although he could certainly ward his brother off effortlessly, given the difference in their diets. It seems to egg Stefan on even more.

"_Fight back! Why won't you fight back?_" He's holding him up against the wall again, his forearm pressing down hard on his brother's air supply.

"I'm not gonna fight you, not today," Damon forces out between blood stained teeth and Stefan's blows become more erratic, but better aimed and more forceful too. In the background, Elena keeps on screaming, yelling at Stefan to stop, because Damon is hurting and she's not lingering on the irony of reversed situations and all that right now. _Stop, stop, stop_, she screams until her voice is hoarse and hurting. By now, Damon has slumped down on the dirty ground, bleeding from countless wounds, and Stefan's head has fallen down on his chest, heaving with sobs while his right hand is still methodically punching his brother's stomach. _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you_ he mumbles in despair.

It's only that Elena dares to step up to him, to smack him on the back with her small, weak, human hands, trying to sound more intimidating when she cries: "_Just leave him alone, can't you see that you're killing him?" _

And finally he seems to remember her, the actual reason for this whole fight, and he's looking at her with closed up, flat eyes.

"Why was I not enough anymore?" he asks, eyeing her tear stained face with weariness and defeat.

Elena gathers every ounce of courage she has left and tries to at least be honest with him at the end. "I've changed, Stefan, I'm not the girl from the graveyard anymore." She draws a shuddering breath. "I'm now older than you." And at least in one way that's true.

"But why him?" he demands with indignation. "All he ever does is destroy things!"

"That's not true," Elena whispers, swallowing hard and lowering her eyes. "He makes _me_ whole…"

And she thinks: _Has he ever forced you to lie down when you were ill? Have you ever seen his face when he's sleeping? Have you heard the noises he makes when he's trying to comfort you?_

Caroline chooses this exact moment to burst through the back door, gasping _Oh my God_ at the sight that greets her before forcefully pulling up a stumbling Stefan and dropping the emergency blood bag that's always in her purse nowadays into Elena's lap. Over her shoulder she mouths _Are you okay?_ to her friend and Elena nods in reply before Caroline leads Stefan out of the valley.

She almost trips with the haste to get to Damon's side, feeding him the blood while he's watching her with lowered eyelids as if just so holding on to consciousness.

"That was so incredibly stupid, Damon," she can't help but scold him when he's finished. "Why couldn't you just hold him back?"

"Ah, no," he slowly wheezes out. "He needed this, had to get it out of his system."

"And why the hell did you make me dance in the first place?" She knows she's just talking out of shock and fear now, is angry with him because it just comes so natural to her, but she doesn't care. "Why can't you ever be diplomatic?"

"I was the easiest way," he says with an effort. "Plus, I really wanted to dance with you, really inappropriate, seeing how far I could take it before you'd hit me…" She's not sure because of all the blood and sweat but Elena's pretty sure that he's trying to waggle his eyebrows at her.

"Your insufferable," she chokes out, trying to get a grip on her jumbled emotions. "Look at us, our first love declaration is not even three hours old and I'm already mad at you." Although she's not, really.

"It's alright," he grins at her, exposing a row of once again white teeth in the dirty mass of his face. "That's just _your thing_, Elena. Besides, I have a really good way to make you shut up now."

And before she can ask him what that would be, he has pulled her down and is pressing a sweaty, bloody, teary, slow and sweet kiss on her lips. When she pulls back, her face must be covered in blood and tear stains, her hair in disarray from her desperately gripping hands, she's sniffling rhythmically because she doesn't have a Kleenex and he looks up at her, clearly losing his grip on reality but his eyes still ablaze with hope and happiness.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers in wonder before closing his eyes and slipping into a sleep of recovery.


End file.
